She knew, as we all in our innermost souls know, that it is a symbol of the greatest truth that can ever be taught to humanity.
The special morning on which she walked, leaning slightly on a silver-knobbed stick, up and down the loggia and looked at the sea, was one of rare beauty even in Sicily, the sky being of that pure ethereal blue for which one can hardly find a comparison in colour, and the ocean below reflecting it, tone for tone, as in a mirror.

In the terraced garden, half lost among the intertwining blossoms, Morgana moved to and fro, gathering roses,--her little figure like a white rose itself set in among the green leaves.

Lady Kingswood watched her, with kindly, half compassionate eyes.
"It must be a terrible responsibility for her to have so much money!" she thought.

"She can hardly know what to do with it! And somehow--I do not think she will marry." At that moment Morgana came slowly up the steps cut in the grass bordered on either side by flowers, and approached her.
"Here are some roses for you, dear 'Duchess!'" she said, "Duchess" being the familiar or "pet" name she elected to call her by.

"Specially selected, I assure you! Are you tired ?--or may I have a talk ?" Lady Kingswood took the roses with a smile, touching Morgana's cheek playfully with one of the paler pink buds.
"A talk by all means!" she replied--"How can I be tired, dear child?
I'm a lazy old woman, doing nothing all day but enjoy myself!" Morgana nodded her golden head approvingly.
"That's right!--I'm glad!" she said.