Gorgo herself had brought out to
her. All she saw, heard, and felt, was soothing to her mind; never had
she seen or tasted juicier peaches, richer bunches of grapes, fresher
almonds or more tempting cakes; on the shrubs in the garden and on the
grass-plots between the paths there was not a dead leaf, not a dry stem,
not the tiniest weed. The buds were swelling on the tall trees, shrubs
without end were covered with blossoms--white, blue, yellow, and
red--while, among the smooth, shining leaves of the orange and lemon
trees, gleamed the swelling fruit. On a round tank close at hand some
black swans were noiselessly tracing evanescent circles and uttering
their strange lament. The song of birds mingled with the plash of
fountains, and even the marble statues, for all that they were dumb,
seemed to be enjoying the sweet morning air and the stir and voice of
nature.

Yes, she could be happy here; as she peeled a peach and slowly swallowed
the soft fragrant mouthfuls, she laughed to remember the hard
ship's-biscuit, of the two previous days' fare. And it was Gorgo's
privilege to revel in these good things day after day, year after year.
It was like living in Eden, in the perpetual spring of man's first
blissful home on earth. There could be no suffering here; who could cry
here, who could be sorrowful, who could die? . . . Here a new train of
thought forced itself upon her. She was still so young, and yet she was
as familiar with the idea of death as she was with life; for whenever she
had happened to tell any minister of her creed that she was an orphan and
a slave, and deeply sad and sorrowful, the joys of eternity in Paradise
had always been described to her for her consolation, and it was in hopes
of Heaven that her visionary nature found such a modicum of comfort as
might suffice to keep the young artist-soul from despair. And now it
struck her that it must be hard, very hard to die, in the midst of all
this splendor. Living here must be a foretaste of the joys of
Paradise--and in the next world, among the angels of Heaven, in the
presence of the Saviour--would it not be a thousand times more beautiful
even than this? She shuddered, for, sojourning here, she was no longer to
be counted as one of the poor and humble sufferers to whom Christ had
promised the Kingdom of Heaven--here she was one of the rich, who had
nothing to hope for after death.

She pushed the peaches away with a feeling of oppression, and closed her