148 
LANGUAGE OF FLOWERS. 
the sinking sun flashed redly upon the carved tin fc 
escutcheon of her ancestors which surmounted the j^i 
gates. Phoebe stooped down to pick up one of the 
Snowdrops which her beautiful mistress had un- ^ 
consciously dropped, and, presenting her with it, 
said, “Take heart, my dear lady; this flower is the ^ 
emblem of Hope, and something tells me that you 
will yet live to see happier days.” The Lady Ellen ^ 
took the proffered flower, smiling faintly through ^ 
her tears as she thanked her attendant, then tag 
threaded her way in the direction of the thatched ^4 
grange, in which the honest farmer’s wife lived, who ,j w 
had nursed her in her infancy. | rf 
Although General Marchmont had risen to such 
eminence in the Parliamentary army, it was neither 
by adhering to the strict Puritanic habits of the 
Roundheads, rendering himself a tool in the hands 
of Cromwell, nor a time-server to any of his emis¬ 
saries ; for he was one of those who drew the sword 
through conscientious motives against King Charles, 
and his own bravery had called forth the thanks of 
Parliament while his praises had been recorded 
before the face of the whole army. The mansion 
which he inherited through a long line of ancestors J 
had, with all it contained, been burnt to the ground 
by the Royalists, during the commencement of the 
wars which so long desolated England. Even the 
Ml 
very woods which before sheltered it had been cut 
J nnita 
