Saddened, and yet peaceful, too, Hazel turns slowly away from the battle-field, and walks on, not noticing whither she goes.  Jarring sounds recall her, and she finds herself in a narrow valley, surrounded by noisy children and brawling women.  No one seems conscious of her presence.  A lot of men are lounging against the wall of a public-house.  The low building is conspicuous by its being in good repair, while its neighbours are all in a shattered condition.  The window-frames are painted and varnished, and the open entrance discloses a smart interior.  A few doors beyond this the houses reach the climax of desolate disorder.  The whole place is tumbling down; the window is broken; the battered door is off its hinges, propped up against the wall.  A cripple girl is sitting on a broken box, turned upside down, immediately outside this miserable hovel.  Her face is a greater shock to Hazel than any of the other wretchedness around.  There is a desperation of bitterness in that set, white face, with its hollow eyes and cheeks, which is absolutely appalling.  Hazel had always imagined that suffering must of necessity, by its own inherent nature, bring with it a patience which would be reflected in a sweet face.  Slowly, as she scans those immovable features, full of pain, and still more full of dogged rebellion, this idea has to be abandoned.  Here obviously is a human being in the midst of a noisy squalor, whose physical disease and torture is unlightened by one softening ray of hope; whose misery is too sullen and dull to rise even to the hope of putting an end to itself.

One moment and the deformed girl starts apprehensively.  A sob has sounded in her ear, and some one, unlike any she has ever seen heretofore, stands beside her, taking her hand in mute, unspeakable compassion.  She cowers back against the wall and drags away her hand; Hazel’s purity and loveliness raises in her only a shrinking dislike and dread of contact.

It is long before the pleading, loving voice gains any hearing; but at last, before the two part, some faint expression of intelligent thought has dawned on the lame girl’s brow; and in her mind a question has been raised, “Can it be that there is one who loves me and has need of me?”

The evening sunlight is falling through the birches in the beautiful garden; the air is full of fragrance and harmony; the queen is returning.  Wearily she opens the gate to enter.  She is filled with pain, for the many sadnesses to which she has drawn near have touched her own soul with the shadow of suffering.

Suddenly, in the chequered shade of the trees at the entrance of the garden, she stops and turns round, for a bright radiance envelops her.  And, lo! there stands One, in glorious light—­One in whose Divine face love is shining.  Hazel bows down, her whole soul overwhelmed with reverent awe.  Then her hand is taken and held with a touch which thrills her with exquisite rapture, and a voice in her ears says—­