TIIE LADIES' FLORAL CABINET. 
83 
tercups. A dainty perfume assailed his senses, and 
Violet stood by him—Violet, who having dressed for 
dinner, now stood to chat awhile. 
She wore a white cashmere dress, her red-gold hair 
made a glorious crown of beauty for her queenly head, 
and a bunch of blue blossoms nestled lovingly at hex- 
throat. 
“ What are you thinking, Paul ? Does it seem like 
the old place to you ? ” 
Thinking of? I-Ie glanced about the finely-furnished 
room, caught the gleam of mirror and marble, of laces 
and satins, the sense of odor and bloom, and elegance 
and wealth, and thought that even if lie had corres¬ 
ponding luxury to ofTer her, yet he would never dare 
hope to address her as his wife, for he was low-born, 
and she—was far, far beyond him. Tell her ho was 
thinking he loved her but must not say it? He gath¬ 
ered his wits and replied: 
“ Indeed, Violet, it seems like home, like heaven, to 
be here! What a pretty conceit and compliment to 
your name is the robe you wear. All in blue and white, 
like the blossoms themselves.” 
She laughed, and colored a little, saying simply: 
“I wondered if you would see that, sir! In fact, I 
wanted to see if you remembered yet your old adoration 
for the Violets.” 
At that his heart leaped within him, but she calmly 
questioned him of his travels, labors, and intei-ests, 
and the old lady joined them in the window, to listen 
to the conversation of the two she loved. 
Said Violet: “It seems to me, each Spring is sweeter 
than the last. The splendor in the grass, the glox-y in 
the flower seems to increase fi'om year to year. The 
beautiful vision of the resurrection becomes deai-er 
each year; and I love the Easter time, when all the 
world and all mankind seems waking to fresh life.” 
And they wandered back over the past again to the 
P'AuyTTwent^-s 1 x ‘year§"^igo^Swhen Paul found 
a human Violet, in place of the :vlrS<Lones, .f or. bis 
father’s grave. 
Dinner was announced, and again poor Paul was in 
a flutter, as the tempting thought flashed across his 
mind—Why should not this gentle, charming creature, 
president his table, be the guiding star of his home? But 
no! She was kind and friendly because she felt indebted 
to him for her very life, not because she had any tenderer 
thought for him; and moreover, he could 'never, proba¬ 
bly, offer her so fine and grand a home as this old coun 
tiy-place Mrs. Esterton had bequeathed her. 
So the day wore along; and once, as Violet jadsiumed 
to her guests from some household duty, sJ-Ae, standing 
in the doonvay, saw this: Paul ony-jne knee by his 
gentle old mother; that mothei-’s fauce was full of love 
and joy, and Paul, kissing the f.v&ded cheek, said sadly: 
“Mother, I have alwajyif loved her. Ever since I 
iix-st left you, and home/Tand Violet.” 
Poor Miss EstertonJ-i As in a flash she undei-stood all 
now. Why noJLos vor could win hex-, why she was solelj- 
happy when-- with Mrs. Moi-gan, and why she was so 
pleased t.~o have Paul home again. Since eax-liest child- 
hoodjtinon, she had loved Paul, and he—had “left home, 
and mother, and Violet,” and learned to love some other 
b.f xppier woman. 
pVery pale, and cold, and still, she stood, to steady 
he g'i'self jxxst a nxoment; but before she could turn and 
lei lve > there came another flash of light, and with a long, 
long sigh, she smiled, and the red tide swept back into 
her lips. For pointing to the blossoms, Paul had said: 
“Mother, I love these Violets, they seem so like 
hex-self. If she were aught else but the pui-e, sweet, 
high and holy woman she is, I might hope to make you 
happy as you have suggested, but you know she is so far 
above me, I dare not entei-tain the dream.” 
The change, the light, the flash that swept the pale 
listenei-’s face, was wonderful to see. Pier bi-illiant 
brown eyes shone with a soft radiance, a smile i-ested 
on the rosy lips, and she stole away to her own x-oonx, and 
there on her knees gave thanks for the promise of that 
Easter-day. A pi-omise of happiness that might be—if 
she but dared- 
Well, her guests were gone, and now, as in the past, 
she must go to the graveyai-d and bi-ing home tlie pi-etty 
painted fiowei'-pot Paul had given her long ago. 
Did he remember ? Yes, he did, for as she softly entered 
the cliui'ch-yax'd, she saw a tall maix tunx away 
and walk to the little church. It was Paul Morgan, at 
the dear old grave, blithe did not lieai- the footsteps com¬ 
ing, and he entered the church, where, for the first time, 
that morning, he had stood as pastor to the dear old liome- 
flock. 
Violet Estei-ton went to the little plot and reclaimed 
her pot of Violets. Twenty or more fragrant blossoms 
nodded a welcome to theix- fair owner, and then she 
faced the church. A neat, new, stone church, that hex- 
money had builded, with the prayer at the time, that 
some day Paul Morgan might come to his old home and 
officiate therein. Did he know it? She would ventui-e 
within and maybe tell him so. 
Miss Esterton softly entered the holy house; through 
the windows fell a flood of golden glory turning to 
warm tints of purple and red, and bathing in magical 
splendor the foi-m of the one kneeling, alone, and in 
deep sadness before the altar. A woman in white, 
beax-iug in her arms a gay gold-and-ciimson dish of white 
woodland blossoms, stepped softly down the dim aisle, 
, and y ; hite_ J a^cjfe i vVjolets she carried slid like a snow 
wreath down on Iyer knees by the supplicant. He might 
not have knowy.i she was there but for the fi-agrance of 
the flowers stye bore, and lifting his head he displayed a 
face so pale^ and wan, blue eyes so strained and sad, she 
could notynelp exclaiming: “Dear Paul! what troubles 
you PV 
yA is strong pride yet forbade him, and he would say 
' no word. Then all the strength and firmness of her 
womanhood rose to the surface. 
“My friend, listen 1 I am come to give an Easter 
offering. Not alone to God and the Church—such a 
one I gave this morning; but now I bring one for the 
dearest friend I have, for the very savioxu- of my life. 
If you will let pride wreck our two lives, I will not I 
You love white Violets, and—will you take xxs, Paul?” 
A very, very rosy face was txu-ned to his, and close to 
the heai't she offered him was pressed hiseai-ly love-gift, 
the odorous snowy flowers. 
A great wave of radiance and absolute beauty swept 
over the sober ministei-’s face. He gasped and 
trembled. 
“Violet!” “Pauli” The rosy lips quivered, but the 
brown eyes glistened through then- tears. Then holding 
in his the white hand that had conquered him when 
only a pink baby-fist, he pou-ed forth a prayer of thanks 
most eloquent and touching and beautiful in its 
