She stopped a moment and drew some long breaths. Then an eager light flashed across her face.
“Oh!” she cried, “I’ve found the lady who gev the wild roses to Patsey that day. She’s here, ’n’ all the children are jes’ crazy ’bout her. An’ she told me ’bout the picture you put me in. She said you’d be sure to come.”
“She? Who?” John Travis was momentarily bewildered.
“Miss Deerin’, Miss Virginia Deerin’. Ain’t it a pretty name? An’ she knows all ’bout that beautiful place of roses. I was hankerin’ so for some, an’ she went out to see ’f she could find any. I couldn’t know you’d bring me such a lovely lot. Don’t you know how Bess alwers b’l’eved you’d come, an’ _she_ b’l’eves jes’ that way. An’ she likes you so.”
“Virginia Deering!” John Travis said under his breath, his whole frame athrill with subtle emotion, “what makes you think she likes me?” he asked softly.
“Oh, can’t you tell it in any one’s voice? An’ their eyes get soft an’ strange, ’s if they were lookin’ ’way off, an’ saw the other one comin’, jes’ ’s Bess come to me that day.”
Then Dil raised a little and glanced out of the window, listened smilingly.
“She’s come back. That’s her voice. An’ oh, won’t she be glad to see you an’ the heaps an’ heaps of wild roses!”
Virginia Deering put by the children’s clinging hands. Her mission had not been very successful. In one shady depth she had found a cluster of belated roses, their mates having blossomed and gone. But the children had enjoyed a rare pleasure.
She came up with a sort of reverent hesitation. She had been thinking of the journey “betwixt this and dawn,” and trying with weak hands to push it farther and farther off, as we always do. Miss Mary had gone to the infirmary. The room was so still; then a soft, glad cry trembled on the air,—
“He’s come, Miss Deerin’! An’ oh, you won’t mind, but he’s been to that wild rose place, an’ I think he’s brought them _all_ to me. Look, look!” and she stretched out her little hands.
Virginia paused, hesitated, her sweet face flushing and paling, as John Travis turned. He was not sure he had made up his mind to any certain step; but, having found her here, he was certain he should never let her go again in this mortal life.
Did it make any difference here in this sacred hour who had sinned? Could not even suffering love fold about another the garment of forgiveness? He took a step forward; she seemed to draw near by some inward volition, and stretched out her hands beseechingly. The sorrow and pain were ended. Was not love too sacred a thing to be bruised and wounded by trifles that should have been forgiven and forgotten as soon as uttered?