SHE WHO WORE A CROWN
in the darkness of grief, and like every day of that summer it had been watered by her tears.
She had quickly accomplished the little household duties that were necessary and had gone into the forest so as to be far away from everybody. She loved to wander in the depths of the forest and dream there. Often she wept there, remembering the happiness that had been hers.
There was one glade which she especially loved. The soft moist grass, the clear faraway sky, the northern moistness, the tender mossy slopes, the soft clouds—all were in sympathy with her grief.
She stood by a grey boulder in this favourite spot; her clear blue eyes gazed at the scene; in her dreams she was far away. She thought she heard herself called, that a voice said:
"Elèna, what are you dreaming about?"
She trembled, and in a moment her sweet dream lost itself in a maze of fancies—she could not have told her dream.
And why should she tell any one what her thoughts had been, where they had wandered? No one else could understand … those dreamland princesses clothed in shining garments, clear-eyed, celestial …
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