He was watching the gate of Paradise, a Paradise as yet forbidden to him.
Yes.

There was the gleam of white robes shining out across the friendly gate.
Standing under a huge spreading camphor tree, a graceful form was there, clear cut against the dark foliage, and seeming to float upon the tender green of the dewy grass.

A nymph--a goddess, shyly standing there, was shading her eyes with one slender hand and gazing down the path toward the golden East which was bringing to the Lady of his dreams, a flood of golden sunlight and her secret adorer, the man whose lonely young heart had throned her as its queen.

Hardwicke raised his head quickly as a wild shriek sounded out upon the still morning air.
The lover with one agonized glance saw the outspread arms of Justine Delande, and heard again a voice which had thrilled his soul in loving memory.

It appealed for aid.