It must be the
intoxicating effect of the woodland air. He even fancied he had noticed
it before, at the same hour when the sun was declining and the fresh
odors of the undergrowth were rising. It certainly was a perfume. He
raised his eyes. There lay the cause on the desk before him--a little
nosegay of wild Californian myrtle encircling a rose-bud which had
escaped his notice.
There was nothing unusual in the circumstance. The children were in the
habit of making their offerings generally without particular reference
to time or occasion, and it might have been overlooked by him during
school-hours. He felt a pity for the forgotten posy already beginning
to grow limp in its neglected solitude. He remembered that in some
folk-lore of the children's, perhaps a tradition of the old association
of the myrtle with Venus, it was believed to be emblematic of the
affections. He remembered also that he had even told them of this
probable origin of their superstition. He was still holding it in his
hand when he was conscious of a silken sensation that sent a magnetic
thrill through his fingers.
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