The tears came into her eyes, and for the first
time since the flower took root,--for the very first time,--she began to
think of her mother, and of her promise to the fairy; and she stooped
down, in an agony of terror and shame and self-reproach, to see how it
fared with her forget-me-not. Alas! it had already begun to droop and
wither; and the leaves were changing color, and the blossoms were
dropping off, and she knew that her mother was beginning to suffer.
"O that I had never seen the hateful flower!" cried Rosebud; and then
instantly recollecting herself, she dropped upon her knees, and kissed
it, and wept upon it, and the flower seemed refreshed by her tears; and
when she stood up and looked into the face of the good little fairy, and
saw her lips tremble, and the color change in her sweet mournful eyes,
she felt as if she never should be happy again.
"Daughter of earth! child of the air!" said the fairy, "two more days
remain to thee. What wouldst thou have?"
"O nothing! nothing! Let me but go back to my dear, dear mother, and I
shall be so happy!"
"That cannot be. These trials are to prepare thee for thy return to her.
Be patient, and take thy choice of these three things,--a tournament, a
coronation, or a ball!"
"Goody gracious! how I _should_ like to see a coronation!" cried
Rosebud; and then she recollected herself, and blushed and courtesied,
and said, "if you please, ma'am.
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