“Let us rest,” said the child, leaning against a tree.  She began swaying a hand to and fro among the flowers; as her fingers touched the bell-like blooms of burning amethyst they became stained with the rich colour; she seemed to lose herself in dreams as one who toils not for delight, living ever amid rich joys.  He wondered if she was as unreal as the gardens, and remembering her words, they seemed familiar as if they were but echoes of the unuttered thoughts that welled up as he moved about.  While he watched the flitting phantasmagoria with a sense expectant of music which never came, phantasmagoria with a sense expectant of music which never came, there arose before him images of peace, vanishing faster than passion, and forms of steadfast purity came nigh, attired, priestess-like, in white and gold; they laid their heads against his breast; as he looked down, their eyes, eager and flamelike, grew passionate and full of desire.  He stretched out his hand to pluck blossoms and twine wreaths for their beautiful heads.

“Do not!  Do not!” cried the child.  “See how every blossom has its guardian!”

There were serpents coiling about the roots of every flower, or amid the leaves, waiting with undulating head and forked tongue to strike the uncautious hand.  He shook off the drowsy influence of the scents and o’er-burdened air; the forms vanished.  He remembered the child’s words:  “None can remain in safety an equal beauty.”  He began to ponder over the meaning of the gardens.

“While we sit here, late lingerers in the glory of twilight, I will tell you a story which my fancy brings me,” he said.  “I thought one came here long ago and built himself a mighty world in a dream of many hundred years.”

“He had lived with kings and counselors; he had wrought in magical arts, and the great and wise of the earth were his fellows.  When a time came for him to depart he turned away sadly from the towers of men.  He passed, without knowing it, through the strange defiles which lead to these gardens; but the light did not break upon him in iridescent waves foamy with flowers and sparkling with vanishing forms; the light was hidden in the bosom of the twilight; it was all-pervading but invisible; the essence of the light bathed his soul; the light was living; the light was exhaustless; by it everything was born; touched by it everything went forth in ecstasy, blind, seeking for realization.

“The magician brought with him the seeds of human desire and wisdom and aspiration.  The light broke into his moody forgetfulness and kindled long-forgotten fires.  He awoke from his darkness and saw before him in happiest vistas the island city of his lounging.  Around him were the men and women he knew; acting on his secret wishes the multitudes hailed him as king, they bowed before him as wise, they worshiped him as all-powerful..  It was not strange to him, and rapt in royal imaginations for