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Hill, Grace Livingston, 1865-1947

"The Girl from Montana"

He would live through no more
torturing agonies of separation without a full understanding of the
matter. He got upon his shaking feet, and started to hunt for Elizabeth.
Then all at once he became aware that he was still carrying the box of
flowers. Battered and out of shape it was, but he was holding it as if it
held the very hope of life for him. He smiled grimly as he tottered
shakily down the aisle, grasping his floral offering with determination.
This was not exactly the morning call he had planned, nor the way he had
expected to present his flowers; but it seemed to be the best he could do.
Then, at last, in the very furthest car from the end, in the drawing-room
he found her, sitting gray and sorrowful, looking at the fast-flying
landscape.
"Elizabeth!" He stood in the open door and called to her; and she started
as from a deep sleep, her face blazing into glad sunshine at sight of him.
She put her hand to her heart, and smiled.
"I have brought you some flowers," he said grimly. "I am afraid there
isn't much left of them now; but, such as they are, they are here. I hope
you will accept them."
"Oh!" gasped Elizabeth, reaching out for the poor crushed roses as if they
had been a little child in danger. She drew them from the battered box and
to her arms with a delicious movement of caressing, as if she would make
up to them for all they had come through. He watched her, half pleased,
half savagely.


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