“Nor any one,” he repeated; “that is enough. And you will think of me when I am away, and if I come back, I may come and ask? All this I will accept on my knees, and, at present, ask for no more.” “But you must not expect--you must not make sure of--when you come back--” “I will wait upon Providence and my good angel, Rosalind!” “What are you saying, Mr. Rivers, about angels and Rosalind? Do you call her by her name, and do you think she is an angel? That is how people talk in novels; I have read a great many. Why, you have got no flowers! What have you been doing all this time? I made Aunt Sophy send me to help you with the cactuses, and Uncle John said, ‘Well, perhaps it will be better.’ But, oh, what idle things you are! The cactuses are not here even. You look as if you had forgotten all about them, Rose.” “We knew you were sure to come, and waited for you,” said Rivers; “that is to say, I did. I knew you were sure to follow. Here, Sophy, you and I will go for the cactuses, and Miss Trevanion will sit down and wait for us. Don’t you think that is the best way?” “You call her Miss Trevanion now, but you called her Rosalind when I was not here. Oh, and I know you don’t care a bit for the flowers: you wanted only to talk to her when Uncle John and Aunt Sophy were out of the way.” “Don’t you think that was natural, Sophy? You are a wise little girl. You are very fond of Uncle John and Aunt Sophy, but still now and then you like to get away for a time, and tell your secrets.” “Were you telling your secrets to Rosalind? I am not _very_ fond of them. I like to see what is going on, and to find people out.” “Shall I give you something to find out for me while I am away?” “Oh, yes, yes, do; that is what I should like,” cried Sophy, with her little mischievous eyes dancing. “And I will write and tell you. But then you must give me your address; I shall be the only one in the house that knows your address; and I’ll tell you what they are all doing, every one of them. There is nothing I should like so much,” Sophy cried. She was so pleased with this idea that she forgot to ask what the special information required by her future correspondent was. Meanwhile Rosalind sat among the flowers, hearing the distant sound of their voices, with her heart beating and all the color and brightness round flickering unsteadily in her eyes. She did not know what she had done, or if she had done anything; if she had pledged herself, or if she were still free. CHAPTER XXXV.