like clear springs renewed by flowing, that she seemed the
perfect flowering of a day in June, for these are phrases. Does
Nature know her wonders when she shines in her strength? Does a
woman know the infinite meanings her beauty may have for the
beholder? I cannot tell. Nor can I tell if I saw this girl as she
may have seemed to those who read only the letter of the book and
are blind to its spirit, or in the deepest sense as she really
was in the sight of That which created her and of which she was a
part. Surely it is a proof of the divinity of love that in and
for a moment it lifts the veil of so-called reality and shows
each to the other mysteriously perfect and inspiring as the world
will never see them, but as they exist in the Eternal, and in the
sight of those who have learnt that the material is but the
dream, and the vision of love the truth.

I will say then, for the alphabet of what I knew but cannot tell,
that she had the low broad brows of a Greek Nature Goddess, the
hair swept back wing-like from the temples and massed with a
noble luxuriance. It lay like rippled bronze, suggesting
something strong and serene in its essence. Her eyes were clear
and gray as water, the mouth sweetly curved above a resolute
chin. It was a face which recalled a modelling in marble rather
than the charming pastel and aquarelle of a young woman's
colouring, and somehow I thought of it less as the beauty of a
woman than as some sexless emanation of natural things, and this
impression was strengthened by her height and the long limbs,
slender and strong as those of some youth trained in the
pentathlon, subject to the severest discipline until all that was
superfluous was fined away and the perfect form expressing the
true being emerged. The body was thus more beautiful than the