He was on his knees in a corner, setting out a bunch of roots--an
unsightly little tangle of rainbow possibilities. It was a still
spring morning; the world was green with young leaves; a little
wind blew down from the pines and lost itself willingly among the
budding delights of the garden. The grass opened eyes of blue
violets. The sky was high and cloudless, turquoise-blue, shading
off into milkiness on the far horizons. Birds were singing along
the brook valley. Rollicking robins were whistling joyously in
the pines. Jasper Dale's heart was filled to over-flowing with a
realization of all the virgin loveliness around him; the feeling
in his soul had the sacredness of a prayer. At this moment he
looked up and saw Alice Reade.

She was standing outside the garden fence, in the shadow of a
great pine tree, looking not at him, for she was unaware of his
presence, but at the virginal bloom of the plum trees in a far
corner, with all her delight in it outblossoming freely in her
face. For a moment Jasper Dale believed that his dream love had
taken visible form before him. She was like--so like; not in
feature, perhaps, but in grace and colouring--the grace of a
slender, lissome form and the colouring of cloudy hair and
wistful, dark gray eyes, and curving red mouth; and more than all,
she was like her in expression--in the subtle revelation of
personality exhaling from her like perfume from a flower. It was
as if his own had come to him at last and his whole soul suddenly
leaped out to meet and welcome her.

Then her eyes fell upon him and the spell was broken. Jasper
remained kneeling mutely there, shy man once more, crimson with