There was no danger of her being seen;
street and square were left to the wind and the sunshine. My arm
was around her, and she leaned her head against my breast.
"Perhaps we shall never meet again," she said.
"The winter is over," I answered. "Soon the trees will be green and
the flowers in bloom. I will not believe that our spring can have no
summer."
She took from her bosom a little flower that had been pinned
there. It lay, a purple star, in the hollow of her hand. "It grew in the
sun. It is the first flower of spring." She put it to her lips, then laid
it upon the window ledge beside my hand. "I have brought you evil
gifts, - foes and strife and peril. Will you take this little purple
flower - and all my heart beside?"
I bent and kissed first the tiny blossom, and then the lips that had
proffered it. "I am very rich," I said.
The sun was now low, and the pines in the square and the upright
of the pillory cast long shadows. The wind had fallen and the
sounds had died away. It seemed very still. Nothing moved but the
creeping shadows until a flight of small white-breasted birds went
past the window. "The snow is gone," I said. "The snowbirds are
flying north."
"The woods will soon be green," she murmured wistfully. "Ah, if
we could ride through them once more, back to Weyanoke" -
"To home," I said.
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