Flora Annie Steel

“ And as they stood talking, as lovers will, Hushmut, the essence-maker, thinking the coast was clear, came shuffling down the scented shadow of the path—for the sun had left the garden—pushing his basket of rose-leaves before him, dragging his crippledom behind him.
"Do you think he would show us his still?" said the girl suddenly. "I've never seen one. Ask him, will you?"
Hushmut's big, bold, black eyes twinkled. Certainly the miss-sahiba might see. There was no secret in his work. He took the scent as he found it, as wise men took love. ”

“ A shuffle in the bushes made the lovers pause; a curious shuffle such as a wounded bird makes in its efforts to escape.
"If the most noble will tarry, this slave will at least make the luck-offering to the bride," came the voice again, and to point its meaning the delicate brown hand held up a circular shallow basket heaped with rose-petals—heaped so lightly that the hand held it level, and it seemed to glide on the top of the bushes, heralding the grizzled head which slid after it with a faintly undulating movement. ”

“ They did not, anyhow; but as they passed the door the girl's muslin flounce caught hard on its lintel hasp, and as in frantic haste she stooped to rip it free, the scent of those rose-leaves Hushmut had given her, still lingering in the ruffles at her breast, seemed to pass straight back into those same rose-leaves in his own.
That was all. Nothing more. But it brought back his last words to her: "May He who knows the secret of the rose protect the bride!" ”