He came over again to the English violets and took long breaths of their sweetness, then said, "I have a friend who calls this her flower, and these blossoms are not more fragrant than is her spirit. Will you kindly cut a few for her?" And drawing out his watch, "It is quite time I was gone." He took his violets, lingered again outside, admiring the beauty of the scene. Everything was clear-cut against a cloudless sky and white moonlit earth.
"Gloriously beautiful, is it not?" he said. "Think of looking up at such a sky as that,—
"'In the solemn midnight, centuries ago,'
"searching for the one star."
"Think of seeing a multitude of angels appear in such a sky," she said, with upturned face.
The pure, rapt expression and the white robes made her companion fear for an instant that she would vanish out of his sight, and he involuntarily drew her hand through his arm and moved on.
"After all, Mr. Thornton," she said, "my thoughts are rather on the earth than the sky, to-night. 'Peace on earth, good will to men.' I've been singing it all day. The Lord has been very kind to us this Christmas. He sent us this lovely home for our very own—Grandpa told you, did he not? See it in the moonlight! Does it not look like a dear little gray dove nestled down among the snows and the evergreens?"
It was a glowing face Mr. Thornton turned to her. These were precious words to hear, and he rejoiced that his secret had been well kept.
In lieu of other friends this young florist held much converse with her flowers, fairly investing them with souls. She went back to them now, and looked them over lovingly.
"He has a friend who loves white violets," she told them. "Do you suppose she is like him?" but the perfumed breath did not answer.