He mechanically directed his steps towards the straggling
eglantine that had had a little rose ready for each of the fair visitors
that accompanied him when last he was there, and was surprised and
delighted to see that it again held forth, as if for his acceptance, two
lovely little blossoms that had come out to greet him, and upon each of
which a dewdrop sparkled amid the frail, delicately tinted petals. He
was strangely moved and touched by the sight of these tiny wild roses,
which awoke such tender, precious memories, and he repeated to himself,
as he had often done before, the words in which Isabelle had confessed
to him that she had furtively kissed the little flower, his offering,
and dropped a tear upon it, and then secretly given him her own heart in
exchange for it--surely the sweetest words ever spoken on this earth. He
gently plucked one of the dainty little roses, passionately inhaled its
delicate fragrance and pressed a kiss upon it, as if it had been her
lips, which were not less sweet, and soft, and fresh. He had done
nothing but think of Isabelle ever since their separation, and he fully
realized now, if he had not before, how indispensable she was to his
happiness. She was never out of his mind, waking or sleeping, for he
dreamed of her every night, and his love grew fonder, if that were
possible, as the weary days went on.
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