found just now while I was looking for
Paradise?"

"Yes," said Patricia.

"A breaking heart."

"A breaking heart!"

Margery nodded. "Yes," she said. "I thought it would surprise you. I
find many things, looking for Paradise. The other day I found a brown
pixie sitting beneath a mushroom, and he told me curious things. But a
breaking heart is different. I know all about it, for once upon a time
my heart broke; but mine was soft and easy to break. It was as soft and
weak as a baby's wrist, a little, tender, helpless thing, you know, that
melts under your kisses. But this heart that I found will take a long
time to break. Proud anger will strengthen it at first; but one string
will snap, and then another, and another, until, at last--" she swept
her arms abroad with a wild and desolate gesture.

"What does she mean?" asked Sir Charles.

"I do not know," answered Patricia.

Margery rose and took up her leafy staff.

"Come," she said. "Come and see the breaking heart."

"O Patricia!" cried Betty, "do not go with her!"

"Why not?" asked Patricia resolutely. "Come, cousin, let us find out
what she means. We will go with you, Margery; but you must not take us
far. It grows late."

Margery laughed weirdly. "It is never late for Margery. There is a star
far up in heaven that is sorry for Margery, and it shines for her,
bright, bright, all night long, that she may not miss the road to
Paradise."

She glided in front of them, and moved rapidly down the dim alley of
trees, her feet seeming scarce to touch the short grass, and the long
green wreaths, stirred by the wind, coiling and uncoiling around her
staff like serpents. Patricia, with Betty and Sir Charles, followed her
closely. She led them out of the mulberry grove, through a small
vineyard, and into a patch of corn, beyond which could be seen the gleam
of water, faintly pink from the faded sunset.

"She is taking us towards the quarters!" exclaimed Patricia. "Margery!
Margery!"

But Margery held on, moving swiftly through the waist-deep corn. Betty
looked down with a little sigh at her dainty shoes, which were suffering
by their contact with the dew-laden leaves of pumpkins and macocks. Sir
Charles put aside the long corn blades with his cane, and so made a way
for the girls. He felt mildly curious and somewhat bored.

Suddenly they emerged upon the banks of the inlet, within a hundred
yards of the quarters. Patricia would have spoken, but Margery put her