She showed herself; blushing, hesitating, offering a nosegay of wild flowers.

My mother whispered to me--I thanked the little mill-girl, and gave her a kiss.

Did I feel the child's breath, in my day-dream, still fluttering on my cheek?
Was I conscious of her touch?
I started, trembled, returned reluctantly to my present self.

A visible hand touched my arm.

As I turned suddenly, a living breath played on my face.