168 POETICAL LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS 
observing her, so deeply was he absorbed in the con¬ 
tents of the open book which he held in his hand. 
Nor was it until the slight rustling made by her heavy 
silk dress arrested his attention, as she arose from her 
seat, that he seemed aware of the beautiful vision 
which thus burst so suddenly upon him. He became 
mute and motionless in a moment, as the lady in the 
enchanted chair he was then reading about in the 
“ Mask of Comus,” which he only that very day re¬ 
ceived, by a special messenger, from the hand of 
Milton himself; nor was his embarrassment a jot re¬ 
moved when she apologized, in tones sweet as those of 
an angel, for having thus unconsciously intruded 
upon his retirement. In the very pains he took to 
assure her that her presence was a pleasuie, and 
would be so at all times,- and all seasons, whenever 
she chose to wander over the ancient plantations, the 
beauty of which he only regretted were so seldom vis¬ 
ited by any saving himself; there was such a tone of 
sweet persuasion about his voice, such a kindness in 
the manner in which he invited her to considei tne 
garden as her own, while ever she was in it, and, 
above all, such an admiration of herself lighted up his 
looks as he spoke, that no marvel a young lady like 
