The face of the canny Fergus was lighted up with an eager joy.  He had watched the growth and progress of this plant from its infancy.  He had leaned above its cradle and taken pride in its size and beauty.  He had trained it over the wall—­from which he had banished every rival—­in large and graceful curves, reaching from the door of the fernery to the door of the grapery, till it looked, in the usual half light of the dim chamber, like a well-regulated serpent maturing its designs upon the neighboring paradise; and now the time was come when he was to see the fruit of his patience and his care.

“Heaven be thankit,” he murmured devoutly, “that I was to the fore when it came.”

“I thank you, Fergus, for calling me,” said Farnham, smiling.  “I know it must have cost you an effort to divide such a sight with any one.”

“It’s your siller bought it,” the Scotchman answered sturdily; “but there’s nobody knows it, or cares for it, as I do,—­and that’s the truth.”

His glance was fixed upon the bud, which seemed to throb and stir as he spoke.  The soft explosive force within was at work so strongly that the eye could watch its operation.  The fissures of the sheath widened visibly and turned white as the two men looked at them.

“It is a shame to watch this beautiful thing happening for only us,” Farnham said to the gardener.  “Go and tell Mrs. Belding, with my compliments, and ask her and Miss Belding to come down.”  But observing his crestfallen expression, he took compassion on him and said:  “No, you had better remain, for fear something should happen in your absence.  I will go for the ladies.”

“I hope ye’ll not miss it,” said Fergus, but his eyes and his heart were fixed upon the bud, which was slowly gaping apart, showing a faint tinge of gold in its heart.

Farnham walked rapidly up the garden, and found the Beldings at the door, starting for evening service with their prayer-books in their hands.

“Do you wish to see the prettiest thing you ever saw in your lives? of course I except your mirrors when in action,” he began, without salutation.  “If so, come this moment to my conservatory.  My night-blooming cereus has her coming-out party tonight.”

They both exclaimed with delight, and were walking with him toward the garden.  Suddenly, Mrs. Belding stopped and said: 

“Alice, run and get your sketch-book and pencil.  It will be lovely to draw the flower.”

“Why, mamma! we shall not have time for a sketch.”

“There, there! do as I tell you, and do not waste time in disputing.”

The young girl hesitated a moment, and then, with instinctive obedience, went off to fetch the drawing materials, while her mother said to Farnham: 

“Madame de Veaudrey says Alice is very clever with her pencil; but she is so modest I shall have to be severe with her to make her do anything.  She takes after me.  I was very clever in my lessons, but never would admit it.”