"When you see what it has done to women?" asked the Doctor, as Harry hesitated to finish his sentence. "Ah, I understand. You are thinking of that garden scene." The Doctor turned from Harry and addressed himself to me, taking up his narrative tone. "You know we ought to have been here three days earlier. The delay was owing to that Orpheus escapade I told you of. It took us back to Omocqua, and, once there, we determined to give a day or two to Egerton, which we had missed before. The cave was no great affair, after those we had seen; and the wonderful flowers that grow there turned out a humbug, as I knew they would. However, Egerton proved to be something of a place, and who should be there but my friend Harvey himself, to whose plantation we were bound. He had his carriage, and proposed to take us down there with him. We accepted, excusing to ourselves the breach of our rule, in consideration of the gratuitous tramp we had taken between Omocqua and Tenpinville. We didn't start until afternoon, so it was rather late when we arrived. However, Madame received us charmingly, and we had a pleasant hour or two talking over the old times at Paris and Dieppe. Nobody else appeared that evening, and I didn't inquire after anybody: I knew Fred was away, and the other children _were_ children when I last heard of them. "I had a room that looked on the garden. Harry was in early in the morning,--not too early for me. I was already some time dressed, had unscrewed my press, and was beginning to release my flowers, prizes of the day before. Harry knew better than to interrupt me, and I sat working away comfortably and leisurely while he stood at the open window. Without, not far off, an old man was dressing a border. The click, click, of his strokes, not very rapid and not very strong, made a pleasant accompaniment to the other pleasant sounds,--such as those of the birds, of the insects, and of a little unseen human swarm whose hum rose and fell at intervals. Suddenly, notes before which everything else seemed stilled to listen,--those of a clear, rich voice,--a woman's voice. It chanted a morning hymn. Every word was distinctly heard. The precision and purity of the tones told of careful training, and the simplicity of the delivery showed either high breeding or a fine artistic sense. Was the charm received through the ear to be heightened or dissolved by the eye? To judge whether there was anything worth getting up for, I looked at Harry. He had an expression--awe-struck shall I call it? Yes, but with a soft, delightful awe. I took my place beside him where he stood looking down into the garden, as James of Scotland looked down from the Tower, upon the fair vision flitting among the flowers, and wondered what name could be sweet enough to call it by,--only Harry was not wondering. It was I. 'Margarita!' he said, under his breath, and quickly, to prevent my question. And Margarita it ought to have been! All in white, soft