"Well, this is a strange garden," she said. "I did think my Rose-Mallow was sensible. What is it," she cried aloud, "what is this Love, for which all Nature pines?" There was no answer; but the sun shot down a handful of golden sunbeams upon her face, which dazzled her and made her laugh again. "Ah! thou wilt know ere long," said the Rose-Mallow, much hurt at her want of sympathy. "Do not think, Princess, that the most beautiful of women will be allowed to go unscathed." Myra threw her arms around him, to make up for her unfeeling remarks, and then in soft tones advised him to climb the wall and look over at his lady-love. "But it will take so long, and be so hard!" he replied. "Still, thy reward may be great, sweet flower. Look higher than the homely flowers of thy home, for the blossom beyond the walls may be far more rare, and may outshine them all." So the Rose-Mallow prepared to follow the Princess's advice, and to leave the lilies, and lupins, and all the sweets of the garden behind him. As Myra turned to go, she noticed that the Violet had drooped and lay panting. She hurried to fetch it some water, for which it returned her modest thanks. She wondered what ailed it to faint in the cool of the morning, when the earth was yet damp with early rain. Then it struck her that the Violet's love for the Rose-Mallow would be of no use if he found the Evening Primrose. "And I suppose that would make her unhappy," she said aloud, as she plucked a bunch of heartsease and placed it in her dress, the wonder in her eyes deepening into an expression of grave, severe thoughtfulness. III. Protected by a hedge of myrtle, in the heart of a mighty forest, Love had fashioned his bower. His couch was strewn with honey-flowers and rose-leaves. Stately red chrysanthemums made splashes of crimson brilliance against the dark green of the scented myrtle. Pink carnations, roses of every hue, sweetbriar, ambrosia, balsams, forget-me-nots, and every flower sacred to the great god, Love, grew in profusion, to make his bower into a resting-place worthy of him. He lay tossing on his fragrant couch in a fit of anger. For some time Princess Myra's disdain of all the great princes and nobles whom he had sent to woo her had offended him deeply. But on this particular afternoon his messengers had informed him of the maiden's morning interview with the Rose-Mallow, and of the question she had asked with regard to himself. Unable to forget the Princess's impertinence, he lay brooding and fretting, until the position of the sun warned him that the day was passing away.