But a sense of the difficulties, dangers, doubts and uncertainties, thronging my way, therewith pressed heavily upon me; and I sat in silence and weariness, while Miss Cardigan put up her work and ordered tea, and finally went off to her greenhouse. Presently she came back with a rose in her hand and held it under my face. It was a full dewy sweet damask rose, rich and fragrant and lovely as such a rose can be. I took it and looked at it.
"Do ye mind," my old friend said, "how the flowers spoke to you and brought you messages, when Daisy was a child yet and first came to see me?"
"I know - I remember," I said.
"Does that no tell you something?"
"What does it tell me?" I said, scarce able to command my words, under the power of association, or memory, which was laying its message on my heart, though it was a flower that bore the message. Inanimate things do that sometimes - I think, often, - when the ear of the soul is open to hear them; and flowers in especial are the Lord's messengers and speak what He gives them. I knew this one spoke to me.
"Listen, and see," Miss Cardigan said.
I looked, and as I looked, these words came up in my mind -
"Why are ye fearful, O ye of little faith?"
"The Lord over all is rich unto all that call upon Him."
And still as I looked, I remembered, - "In all their afflictions He was afflicted;" - and, "My God shall supply all your need, according to His riches in glory by Christ Jesus." The words came into my head; but apart from the words, the rose seemed to say all these things to me. People who never heard flowers talk would think me fanciful, I suppose.