He stretched out his trembling hands and called sorrowfully to the boy. "Come back! O come back! I had forgotten so much! And the lilacs——" but he was alone. And his hair was almost white. He covered his face with his hands and shivered. For the shadow was creeping up the porch.
And then over his chilled heart there came the breath of roses—summer roses. The air struck warm and soft upon his cheeks. And when he dropped his hands there stood in the sun-ray a straight tall youth. His eyes were shining with strength; his smile was happiness itself. In his firm brown hands he held roses—summer roses. The old man forgot to be afraid and raised himself on the cushions.
"Give them to me—give them!" he cried. The young man laughed low and laid the red flowers softly up against the withered cheeks. Then he sat down and took the cold, dry hands in his.
"What do they make you remember?" he said.
The old man sighed for pure joy. "Ah, how sweet—how heavenly sweet! Did they come from the garden behind her father's house?"
"Yes," said the youth, "from the old bush near the wall. It was moonlight, and we picked them together. I reached the highest ones, because Rachel is not tall. She wore——"
"She wore the white gown with the big shade hat," said the old man eagerly. "And I made a wreath for her shoulders. I called her—what did I call her? The queen—the queen"—
"The queen of roses," said the youth.
"Ah, yes, the queen of roses!" said the old man. "Her mouth was like the pink, young buds. We went up and down the long paths, and I wanted her to take my arm."