The girl listened intently, the spots on her face growing deeper and
wider. She looked at the bluebells wistfully, but would not touch them.
Arch offered her a spray. She shook her head sadly.
"No," she said, "they are not for me. Keep them, Arch. Some time, I
think, you will be rich and happy, and have all the flowers and beautiful
things you wish."
"If I ever am, Mat, you shall be my queen, and dress in gold and silver!"
answered the boy, warmly; "and never do any more heavy work to make your
hands hard."
"You are very good, Arch," she said. "I thank you, but I shall not be
there, you know. I think I am going away--going where I shall see my
mother, and your mother, too. Arch, and where all the world will be full
of flowers! Then I shall think of you, Arch, and wish I could send you
some."
"Mat, dear Mat! don't talk so strangely!" said the boy, clasping her hot
hands in his. "You must not think of going away! What _should_ I do
without you?"
She smiled, and touched her lips to his hand, which had stolen under her
head, and lay so near her cheek.
"You would forget me, Arch. I mean after a time, and I should want you
to. But I love you better than anything else in all the world! And it is
better that I should die. A great deal better! Last night I dreamed it
was.
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