Unless Linden flowers can be sometimes found a good deal deeper-coloured than pinks, there was at least very little present resemblance. The only notice Faith took of this prophecy was an involuntary one. The door softly opened at this point, and Mrs. Derrick came in to announce tea. She stood still a moment surveying them both.
"How do you think she looks, Mr. Linden?"
His eyes went back to Faith, giving a quick reply which he did not mean they should. "She looks like a dear child—as she is, Mrs. Derrick. I cannot say much more for her. But I shall take her down to tea."
Mrs. Derrick went joyfully off for shawls and wrappers. Mr. Linden was silent; his eyes had not stirred. But he amused himself with taking some of the violets from the table near by and fastening them in her belt and hair; the very touch of his fingers telling some things he did not.
"Sunbeam, do you feel as if you could bear transportation?"
"Not as a sunbeam. I could walk down, I think," said Faith. Mr. Linden remarked that the truth of that proposition would never be known; and then she was muffled in a large soft shawl, and carried down stairs and laid on the sofa in the sitting-room. The windows were open for the May wind, but there was a dainty little fire still—everything looked strangely familiar; even Mr. Linden; though his face wore not just its most wonted expression. He had laid her down among the cushions and loosened her wrapping shawl, and paid a little attention to the fire; and now stood in Dr. Harrison's favourite place, looking at her,—perhaps trying to see whether she looked more like herself down stairs than she had done above. He could not find that she did. Faith felt as if a great cloud had rolled over and rolled off from her; yet in her very happiness she had a great desire to cry; her weakness of body helped that. Her head lay still upon the cushions with fingers pressed upon her brow. She hardly dared look at Mr. Linden; her eye wandered over less dangerous things; yet it saw him not the less. How sweetly the wind blew.
Mr. Linden went off to the window and picked three or four of the May roses that grew there, and then coming to sit down by Faith's sofa softly pushed one of the buds in between her fingers, and made the rest into a breast knot which he laid on the white folds of her dress. He put other roses in her cheeks then, but it was all done with a curious quietness that covered less quiet things. Faith took the flowers and played with them, venturing scarce a look of answer. With the wasted cheek, the delicate flush on it, and all the stirred fountain of feeling which she was not so able as usual to control, Faith was very lovely; to which effect the roses and violets scattered over her lent a help of their own. Mr. Linden looked at her,—giving now and then a little arranging touch to flowers or hair—with an unbending face, which ended at last in a very full bright smile; though just why it rouged her cheeks so instantly Faith did not feel quite sure. She felt the rouge.
"I am glad you feel like yourself again," she remarked.
"How do you know that I do?"
"I think you look so."