“_He_ loved flowers,” Agnes whispered, as her better nature prevailed over every other feeling, and, starting eagerly forward, she ran after the old man who, surprised at her evident haste, waited a little anxiously for her to speak. It was rather difficult to do so with Maddy’s inquiring eyes upon her, but Agnes managed at last to say: “Does that crazy man like flowers—the one who prays for the _madam_?” “Yes, he used to, years ago,” grandpa replied; and, bending down, Agnes began to pick and arrange into a most tasteful bouquet the blossoms and buds, growing so profusely within the borders. “Take them to him, will you?” and her hands shook as she passed to Grandpa Markham the gift which would thrill poor crazy Joseph with a strange delight, making him hold converse awhile with the unseen presence which he called “she,” and then to whisper blessings on the _madam’s_ head. Three days after this, a party of four left Aikenside, which presented a most forlorn and cheerless appearance to the passers-by, who were glad almost as the servants when, at the expiration of a week, Guy came back and took up his olden life of solitude and loneliness, with nothing in particular to interest him, except his books and the letters he wrote to Lucy. Nothing but these and the _doctor’s_ picture—the one designed expressly for him, and which troubled him greatly. Believing that he had fully intended it for the doctor, Guy felt as if it were, in a measure, stolen property, and this made him prize it all the more.