"You are our own dear Aldyth, whatever has happened," said Mrs. Bland, as she warmly kissed her.
"But I am very sorry, Aldyth," said Hilda, in a commiserating tone; "I am indeed."
"Don't be sorry for me," said Aldyth, briskly, "I am not altogether sorry myself. If the truth had come to light a few weeks after I entered upon my inheritance, I should have been really glad. But now, of course, there are many things to regret. I wish, oh, I wish very much that I had known earlier!" She ended with a sigh.
"How was the will found, Aldyth?" asked Gwendolen, full of curiosity. "Is it true that it was in a secret drawer of old Mr. Lorraine's desk?"
"It was in a secret compartment of my uncle's bureau," Aldyth said, and moved, as she spoke, to Kitty's side, to ask how she was, and to express pleasure at finding her in the garden.
"Yes, it is good to be here," said Kitty, her face serene and bright; "I never loved our dear old garden as I do now. Sometimes I feel as if I wanted to kiss the flowers, they look so kindly at me—as if they were blooming just for me. Oh, I cannot tell you the good flowers do me; I could almost say they talk to me, Aldyth, for there is a language of flowers. I do not mean the silly meanings sentimental persons attach to certain flowers. What I want to say, if only I knew how to express it, is that flowers have a way of speaking to the heart."
"To me the meanest flower that blows can give
Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears,"
repeated Aldyth.
"Yes, that expresses it. Wordsworth understood the language of flowers. Do you remember his lines to the daisy?—
"'When smitten by the morning ray
I see thee rise, alert and gay:
Then, cheerful flower, my spirits play
With kindred gladness;
And when, at dusk, by dews opprest,
Thou sink'st, the image of thy rest
Hath often eased my pensive breast
Of careful sadness.'