"I had played with it for years, and the color suits her--it must be the same as are her real eyes." Then she darted out into the sunlight and returned again in a few moments--with shining face.

All was safe and the momentous hour had come.
She took her goddess from Mr.Carlyon's arms, and walking with the dignity of a priestess of the Temple, she preceded her master along the tangled path.
A riot of things growing impeded each step.

Roses which had degenerated into little better than wild ones, showed late red and pink blooms, honeysuckle and columbines flowered, and foxgloves raised their graceful heads.
At the end there was a broken bower at the corner of the terrace, with a superb view over the park and far beyond to the high blue hills.
This place was cleared, for Halcyone had done the necessary work herself.

It was one of her outlooks upon the world and she had even carefully mended the cracked bench with a bit of board and a nail or two.

The table, which was of stone, still stood firmly and was quaint and rather Greek in shape--for had not a later Timothy La Sarthe brought it from Paris in the Empire days?
Mr.Carlyon sat down and prepared himself for the solemn moment when the Goddess should be unveiled.
And when the reverent little priestess had removed the folds from the face as it lay upon the table, he started and held his breath, for he instantly realized that indeed this was the work of some glorious old Greek sculptor; none other could have created that perfect head.
And as he looked, the child slipped her hand into his and whispered softly: "Watch her eyes; she is tender to-day and welcomes us.