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--
"It is you queens only who can feel the depths of pain, and conceive the
way to its healing."
Ah! that is enough. She has lost her desire to recall more.
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