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Rh The air was doubly refreshing, and the flowers more beautiful. The setting sun illuminated the western sky with crimson glory, and reflected its hues on the clouds and on the garden in which I stood. I tried to pluck a rose but pricked my fingers. Just then my attention was arrested by a carriage entering the compound. It was he, and he came near and secured the obstinate rose for me.

"For whom are you plucking these flowers?" he questioned softly.

Yes, for whom was I plucking these flowers? That question I had revolved in my own mind ever since I came into the garden. In my childhood I had gathered flowers, but there was no question about it then, they were for Chotu, but for whom were these? I could not give them to Mr. Roy, however hard I might try.

"For my sister" I faltered shyly. I heard him sigh and then he picked a rose, the most beautiful one to be seen, put it into my hand, and repeated a verse:—