'Poor thing!' the tender flower exclaimed, with the utmost pity, forgetting now all former slights. 'Creep under my leaves, perhaps they may shield you. But your beautiful wings, how came they so torn and colourless?'
'The pitiless storm last night fell upon me and crushed me to the earth in its fury,' he answered, with difficulty, for he was so feeble. ''Tis true the gleams of sunshine to-day have revived me a little; but alas! I am dying! my brief day is over, and there is no one to give me a refuge save you!'
'Where are your gay friends?' she asked,'those with whom you sported throughout the livelong summer hours?'
'Gone far from me,' he answered bitterly; 'they were but friends of the fleeting sunshine, and I in the day of my power thought but of myself, and now—I am left alone to die!'
The Honeysuckle was deeply moved; she remembered no more his haughty pride, she only saw that now he was ill and in sorrow; so she placed her clinging tendrils gently around him, trying thus to keep the poor Butterfly under the shelter of her protecting leaves.
Night came stealing on, folding her sable curtains over the earth; and it was a wild night, for not a star shone in the skies, all was dark and dreary, for the Storm King was abroad in all his mighty strength. The fierce gales came with terrific power, tossing the lordly ships as they nobly braved its fury, but causing, oh, so many loving hearts to fervently pray 'for those at sea.' No wonder, then, that when the cold grey dawn awoke the early flowers, they saw the poor crushed Butterfly lying dead! close beside the little Honeysuckle, whose trustful, meek heart he had once so cruelly derided.
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