Each blossom that blooms in their garden bowers,
On its leaves a mystic language bears.’
“Is it so—do you believe this, May?”
May made no answer, but bent her head still lower over the book before her, and the little rose-bud trembled as though moved by some breath of summer.
“The—the rose, May,” continued Harry, “seems to have been ever a favorite and expressive flower of this mystic garland:
“‘The rose is the sign of joy and love,
Young blushing love in its earliest dawn.’”
There was a pause.
“May—May, will you give me the rose?”
May timidly raised her eyes to his—they were filled with tears.