Let us now change the scene to the sick room of Lucia.
“Look, my darling! see what beautiful flowers have been sent you this morning!” said Mrs. Laurence, as Charlotte Atwood entered the room, bearing in her hands two large and splendid bouquets.
“How beautiful!” cried Lucia, a faint color tinging her pale cheek.
“Yes, they are beautiful,” said her friend Charlotte; “really, Lucia, to be so tenderly remembered in sickness, compensates for a great deal of suffering. But you are favored; now I dare say poor I might look in vain for any such fragrant tokens of kindness.”
“You carry them always with you, dear Charlotte; your heart is a perfect garden of all fair and beautiful flowers,” said Mrs. Laurence, smiling gratefully at the affectionate girl, who had shared with her so faithfully the cares and anxieties of her child’s sick bed.
“Do you know who sent them?” asked Lucia, as she bent her head to inhale their sweetness.
“That I shall not tell you,” answered Charlotte, catching the flowers from her hand. “They are offerings from your captive knights, fair princess; now choose the one you like best, and then I will tell you; but be as wary as Portia’s lovers in your choice, for I have determined in my mind that on whichever your selection falls, the fortunate donor shall also be the fortunate suitor for your hand—come, choose!”
The bouquets were both beautiful. One was composed of the rarest and most brilliant green-house flowers arranged with exquisite taste; the other simply of the modest little Forget-me-not, rose-buds, and sweet mignonette.
“In the words of Bassanio, then, I will say,
Outward shows be least themselves,