After awhile they got him up to his own room and to bed, and all day the Little Madre sat by him, tending to his few wants. Once he fell asleep, and when he awoke the room was full of flowers.
"What is it?" he asked his mother feebly, "Where did they come from?"
"From friends," she said, rising and moving from one great bunch to another. "The white and pink roses are from Cousin Kenneth's wife," and so she went on. "The heather and the bracken came without a name. I think they must be from Rob—don't you?"
She paused, turning to him questioningly. Stewart swallowed.
"Probably," he said, in a low voice.
"The Camerons sent the lilies, and those red roses are from the old Major of the Department—you should read the card," she smiled proudly, coming back to his bed.
He smiled at her eagerness, and laid the card down.
"That's pretty nice, isn't it?" he asked.
And then he looked up at her.
"But the violets?" he asked slowly. "Who left the violets?"