"I can't say it. I—I'm frightened."
"Frightened? Why—have I frightened you?"
"You?—no, how could you? Only…."
"Tell me, then. Tell me. Only a word, and I shall know."
"I'm frightened—no, I can't say it. Only—Oh, I love you, if you knew how I love you…."
* * * * *
"The loveliest hour I ever knew," whispered the balsamine again, "was when I bloomed for the first time—when my petals opened, and the sun came and kissed right into my heart."
"I know, I know," murmured the fuchsia. "And I that am blooming now for the second time—should I not know? We put forth flowers again, and it is always sweet, but never like the first time of all—nothing can ever be like that. For it is all a mystery then; the mantle of something wonderful and unknown is over us. And we feel it and thrill at what is coming, and ask ourselves—will it be to-day? Hoping and fearing—and knowing all the time that it will come. Never a thought of past or future, only for the hour that is upon us … until at last it comes, it comes—petals that blush and unfold, and all things else seem to fade away, and we melt into a glory of warmth and light."
* * * * *
The Spirit of Joy stood quietly smiling by the bed.