And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue,
Do paint the meadows with delight,"
never comes round without bringing with it a vision of himself and a fair and beautiful girl by the old house at Springfield, she with white lilies and cuckoo flowers in her hands, and he standing before her, with a heart pulsing with love and adoration.
Nelly Marston would have stopped a longer time conversing with him, had she not seen a maid approaching her from the house to summon her to Lady Temple's room.
"I have been waiting for you, Miss Marston," says the sick lady, in a peevish tone, as the girl enters, "and wondering where you were. What have you in your hand? Flowers! Send them away. You know I am expressly forbidden to have flowers about me. Stay. What are they? Don't bring them too close."
"Only a few lilies of the valley, Lady Temple, that the gardener's son gave me."
"And you have some in your hair, too--that the gardener's son gave you! And those other flowers, the yellow ones?"
"This is the cuckoo flower--the cuckoo pint, rather. Lords-and-ladies, he called it."
"And that's why you choose it, I suppose. So you have been gossiping with the gardener's son! You are like your mother, I am afraid."
"My mother, Lady Temple," says the girl proudly, straightening her slight figure, "during her lifetime, always spoke of you with respect and affection. I shall be glad if you will explain the meaning of your words--if they have a meaning."
"There, there, don't worry me, Miss Marston. I am not strong enough for scenes. It seems to be a bright morning."