lexion of every flower is suited with that of its neighbour. But
this old garden was always a favourite, for its unfailing sunshine, its
murmurous repose, and the refreshing fragrance of its old-fashioned
odours.

Well, my dears, all day long I stayed in my room, fighting a battle of
sorrow and passion, and when evening came I stood at the window and saw
the sun go down behind the trees of the old garden. I bethought me of
its soothing sights and sounds, and fled away to it, as to a sanctuary.
There is an arbour under the wall, in the midst of a bed of lilies. I
hid myself there, and looked out on the lily-cups brimming with sunset
light, on the diving up and down of the birds, on the little golden
clouds transfixed in the glory of the heavens. Not a soul breathed
within the four high walls but myself, till the latch of the little
green door clicked, and who should come hieing along the path but
Rachel, her white evening dress tucked to one side, and a watering-pot
in her hand. She had a favourite corner in this garden, which it was her
pleasure to tend with her own hands. The sun was down, and the plants
were thirsting. Rachel was kind to all: kind to the daisies and me, kind
to John, kind to her betrothed, Arthur Noble (I had not failed to pick
up the name), who was coming this evening to surprise her. When and in
what corner would the kindness end and cruelty begin? Watching through a
rent screen of tangled flowers, the fair shapely figure flitting and
swaying in the after glory of the sunset, I wondered about it all. How
would she act when her other lover arrived? Would she turn her face, in
which lived such pathetic truth, first on one, and then on the other?
Would she for a time give a hand in the dark to each, lacking courage to
fling love for ever over her shoulder, and declare at once for the
world? Would she honestly dismiss John, confessing that she had chosen
her path? or would she bravely destroy that which was unholy, and give
her hand to him before the world? Contemplating this possibility, I felt
my heart swell with something that was not selfishness; and I built a
palace in the air for John.

Having done so, I heard the garden door click again, and starting,
looked, expecting to see John coming in to take possession of his palace
on the instant. A man came in, but he was a stranger. He took first one
path, and then another, and glanced about him with eyes unused to the
place. Here, then, was Arthur Nob