her breast, she
stooped, and almost would have plucked it, when, as she grasped the
stem, a sharp pain made her desist. She looked at her hand and saw a
drop of blood, of color which just matched the rose. A silvery laugh,
like the ripple of a mountain brook, attracted her, and she looked up
to see a little fellow, with bow and quiver, smiling at her from the
centre of the flower.

"Fair maiden," said the sprite, "if thou wouldst taste the joy of
paradise, the happiness which transcends all other earthly pleasure,
choose one of these unopened buds. Take it with thee to thy home, and
nurse it as thou wouldst care for thine own heart. Tend it, nourish
it, and cherish it. Then, in time, it will expand and unfold, and from
its petals you will see emerge, not a tiny sprite like me, but the
spirit face of one such as thou, though of other sex, who will arouse
within thy breast that endless ecstacy which men call Love. For these
deep red roses are the emblems of Love!"

Without hesitation Agnes plucked the largest bud within her reach,
unmindful of the pricking thorns which pierced her flesh, and then
hurried on, passing the roses of Wisdom, and many other flowers of
great attractiveness. And as she ran the wish that surged up in her
soul was that the words of the sprite might prove true, and that she
might see that face: the face of him who was born to be her master;
the one for whom she would slave, and be happy in her slavery.

Then it seemed that she was at home again, in her own room, and that
the cherished bud was in her most beautiful vase. She thought that she
supplied fresh water, placed the vase where the sun would kiss the bud
for one full hour every day and in every way did all that she could
devise to hasten its maturing. At last one morning, a tiny bit of
color gladdened her eyes as the first tips of the petals burst from
their sheath and pushed themselves out into the great world. From that
hour, as the bud slowly unfolded, she felt within her heart a
sympathetic feeling which was a pleasure and yet was painful too. It
seemed as though the fate of the flower was interlaced with her own so
tightly, that if it should die, why then no longer would she wish to
live. And so she waited and watched and tended the blooming rose with
anxious patience, awaiting that hoped-for day when the promise of the
fairy, and the sprite, would be fulfilled. But the days went by, and
at last the rose began to fade, and as the peta