She continued,—
"Why haven't you been to see us before?"
"I did not know where you lived, nor who you were."
"Ah! That was why!"
And now they talked of their first meeting, how Lilian was carried away by her uncle, and how Roland wandered on to find Eric. Then it was spring, and now it is autumn.
"Just think! In your lilies there were some pretty little flies, which went along with us in the carriage, and didn't stir."
"Have you kept the flowers?"
"No. I don't like withered flowers, Give me something—give me something, that doesn't wither."
"I have nothing," replied Roland. "But I will send you my photograph, taken as a page—no. That's not fit for you. Oh, if I only had my rings now! I should like to give a ring, but Herr Eric has taken them all off my fingers."
"I don't want any ring. Well, give me that—give me the pebble that's now under your foot."