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Updated: May 24, 2025
Flint was known on principle never to excite herself. "What is the matter with her?" she inquired of Poppy, who flushed up at her tones. "Oh, nothing, miss. She's only a bit put out about the broken boots. There, I must run." Poppy almost shut the door in Jasmine's face. She was certainly very unlike her usual self.
Jasmine's hope of hopes lay in her beloved manuscript. That story, the first-fruits of her young genius, must surely make her purse bulky, and must wreathe her little brow with laurels. That story, too, was to refund poor Poppy the money she had lent, and was to enable Jasmine to live in comfort during her sister's absence.
"Is it dangerous?" she asked, with a face where tragedy had written self-control. "As bad as can be," he answered. "Go in and speak to him, Jasmine. It will help him." He opened the door softly. As Jasmine entered, Al'mah with a glance of pity and friendship at the face upon the bed, passed into another room. There was a cry in Jasmine's heart, but it did not reach her lips.
Adrian had, however, deftly but clearly tried to dissuade her from coming to Glencader, and his reasons were so new and unconvincing that, for the first time, she had a nature of strange trustfulness once her faith was given a vague suspicion concerning Adrian perplexed and troubled her. His letter had arrived some hours after Jasmine's, and then her answer was immediate she would accept.
"But please to tell your young lady that, being only a guest at this inn, I have nothing worthy of her acceptance to offer in return for her bounteous gifts, and that I can only assure her of my boundless gratitude." With many bows, and with reiterated wishes for Jasmine's happiness and endless longevity, the woman took her leave.
There was a sudden cry of rapture. Jasmine's arms were round his neck; Delphy mounted to her accustomed place on his shoulder. He was their own, their darling. Gentian kissed his hand over and over again. Dark-eyed Rose of the Garden kissed him once more.
Into Jasmine's voice there came another and more reflective note, and the drift of the conversation changed.
Primrose smiled, kissed Jasmine between her eyebrows and went on reading. "Jasmine's character," continued Mrs. Ellsworthy in her letter, "is as yet unformed. She has high aspirations and generous impulses if she is well managed, and if you don't spoil her, Primrose, she will probably develop into a very noble woman. I love Jasmine very dearly already.
The other came towards the hospital at a quick trot, drew bridle very near Jasmine's window, slid to the ground, said a soft word to his charger, patted its neck, and, turning, made for the door of the hospital.
But have we not had the world to look upon each day, and the soughing of the woods to hear? There is nothing so grand in all the world as that voice of the woods. There was a scent of jasmine in a shrubbery, and one I know thrilled with joy, not for the jasmine's scent but for all there was for the light in a window, a memory, the whole of life.
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