"It must be your fancy, child," said the woman wearily; "I smell nought."
By this time Violet had settled herself in one of the blossoms of the geranium, and was busy at work.
"Look, look, mother!" cried the sick girl again, "this at least is no fancy;" and mother and daughter gazed at the flower in amazement as the faded colour grew bright under the fairy's magic touch. "'Tis the moving it to a sunnier spot, or mayhap 'twas the water I gave it this morning," said the woman, recovering herself with a start. "I'll give it a drop more," and she bustled off to get some, while her daughter lay back and watched the flower with a quiet, restful smile on her patient lips.
"There is work for me to do here," said Violet to herself, feeling quite happy as she glided from blossom to blossom, touching and re-touching with her delicate brush. So she stayed, and day by day the flower grew more radiantly beautiful beneath her loving hands, sweetest fragrance filled the room, and softest murmuring of fairy music floated on the air, which, though the dull senses of mother and daughter failed to interpret rightly, yet stole into their hearts and gave them comfort. Sometimes a vision would come before her of the radiant fairy-land from which she was banished, or of her beautiful forest-home where fragrant flowers had wrapt her in their dewy leaves, where birds had sung to her from the leafy bower above her head, and the bright sun had shone upon her with genial warmth. But she would quickly banish such thoughts, and gliding round the room would touch every dull corner with her fairy wand till it shone and brightened with a magic charm, would cast a spell upon the smouldering fire, so that it burned and crackled cheerily, would lay her cool hand upon the sick girl's throbbing brow till the pain abated, and would cast a fairy haze before her languid eyes, so that they saw beautiful visions in the changeful sky.
So day by day passed by, till one morning, bending over a glass that stood beneath the flower she was painting, Fairy Violet saw her own reflection in the clear water. But she saw something more! A pair of wings of the most delicate gossamer, tipped with silver and sparkling with a marvellous radiance, had sprung from her shoulders and rose almost on a level with her tiny head! Fairy Violet had won her wings at last, and the golden gates of Fairy-land, where the woods and forests were always green, and the valleys ever radiant with beautiful flowers, were open to her once more.
Wild with joy, she darted out of the window, and was already far above the tops of the smoky chimneys, when she remembered the patient suffering girl whose life was slowly wasting away in the close confined atmosphere of her miserable home. Then her wings drooped and her bright face clouded over.
"I must not leave my work unfinished," she said, and with a wistful glance at the white fleecy clouds that seemed to beckon lovingly to her, she returned to the cottage; and the dying girl's last days were brightened by the fairy presence of which she was so unconscious.
She knew not that it was from Violet the murmuring music came that delighted her wondering ears, that it was to her she owed the sweet fragrance that filled the air, and the soft fresh colouring of the flower at which she loved to gaze; but though the gentle fairy got no thanks, she felt well rewarded for her labour of love when she saw the peaceful smile that rested on Faith's wasted face, and the light that beamed in her dark eyes.
At last the end came. One evening as the sun was sinking to rest in great waves of crimson and gold, Faith asked for her flower to be brought to her, smiled faintly as her dim eyes rested on it for the last time, laid her head on her mother's breast, and died. A low wailing cry broke from the mother as she felt that never again would the dark eyes be raised lovingly to hers, or the wan face brighten at her approach; but Violet saw what the mother failed to see, that white-robed angels had gathered round the death-bed, and were now bearing away the freed spirit with strains of triumphant joy. So she framed the glorious vision into a song, which she sang in the woman's ear, and the mother was comforted, though she knew not why.
"'Tis better so, my poor lamb," she murmured, while tears dropped slowly one by one down her sunken cheeks. "There is no pain where thou art gone, nor hunger either, and I will join thee there by-and-bye."