every moment discovering fresh beauties. She finds a beautiful grotto,
where are large rocks and cascades and running streams and fountains.
She enters by a low archway of stone, covered with drooping ferns, and
there, right before her, is a large clear pool at the foot of a huge
rock. She flushes with the prettiest of shy pleasure and frank
admiration at sight of her own reflection.

How beautiful! A girl in a long, white robe, with a sweet, dark-eyed
face, which she knows to be her own. She is leaning slightly forward,
and the eyes--so often heavy and weary--are brimming with happiness, the
lips parted in a smile. Her hair, with its pretty, sunny ripples, is
unbound, and the wind blows it slightly back from her shoulders. And,
most wonderful and striking of all, a circlet of pure gold rests upon
the shapely head, and a second circlet is clasped round the waist. Then
she is a queen? No doubt of it. And then comes, to the joy of admiration
of all she has seen, the added joy of certainty that all is her own.
This is a queen's garden, and she is the happy queen!

More and more dawns gradually upon her. There are those near at hand
dear to her, to whom she is also dear, whose queen she is. Oh the joy of
it all! She clasps her hands in ecstasy, and the pretty reflection in
the pool is more than ever lovely, only she has forgotten it now.

A serious thought must have come into Hazel's mind, for suddenly a
different expression appears in her eyes; a look of perplexity and shade
of sorrow. The consciousness in her new life is growing, and, alas! it
is not unmixed with pain. This garden is not all the world, then? She
puts her hand to her brow, trying to recall something. Slowly it comes
back to her in words, noble words, spoken by one whose face is a
darkness to her. And she listens--