g before him now, he having risen when she rose. From the very
fair brow and rosy cheek and soft line of the lips, Pitt's eye at last
went down to the book she held before him. There, on the somewhat large
page, lay a dried flower. The petals were still velvety and rich
coloured, and still from them came a faint sweet breath of perfume.
What did it mean? Pitt looked, and then looked closer.

'It is a Cheiranthus,' he said; 'the red variety. What does it mean,
Esther? What does it say to my question?'

He looked at her eagerly; but if he did not know, Esther could not tell
him. She was filled with confusion. What dreadful thing was this, that
his memory should be not so good as hers! She could not speak; the
lovely shamefaced flushes mounted up to the delicate temples and told
their tale, but Pitt, though he read them, did not at once read the
flower. Esther made a motion as if she would take it away, but he
prevented her and looked closer.

'The red Cheiranthus,' he repeated. 'Did it come from Seaforth? I
remember, old Macpherson used to have them in his greenhouse.
Esther!--did _I_ bring it to you?'

'Christmas'--stammered Esther. 'Don't you remember?'

'Christmas! Of course I do! It was in _that_ bouquet? What became of
the rest of it?'

'Papa made me burn all the rest,' said Esther, with her own cheeks now
burning. And she would have turned away, leaving the book in his hands,
with an action of as shy grace as ever Milton gave to his Eve; but Pitt
got rid of the book and took herself in his arms instead.

And then for a few minutes there was no more conversation. They had
reached a point of mutual understanding where words would have been
superfluous.

But words came into their right again.

'Esther, do you remember my kissing you when I went away, six or seven
years ago?'

'Certainly!'

'I think that kiss was in some sort a revelation to me. I did not fully
recognise it then, what the revelation was; but I think, ever since I
have been conscious, vaguely, that there was an invisible silken thread
of some sort binding me to you; and that I should never be quite right
till I followed the clue and found you again. The vagueness is gone,
and has given place to the most daylight certainty.'

'I am glad of that,' said Esther demurely, though speaking with a
little effort. 'You always liked certainties.'

'Did you miss me?'

'Pitt, more than I can possibly tell you! Not then only, but all the
time since.