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HE gardener bade Arcade and Zita sit down in an arbour walled with wild bryony, at the far end of the orchard.

“Arcade,” said the beautiful Archangel, “Nectaire will perhaps reveal to you to-day the things you are burning to know. Ask him to speak.”

Arcade did so and old Nectaire, laying down his pipe, began as follows:—

“I knew him. He was the most beautiful of all the Seraphim. He shone with intelligence and daring. His great heart was big with all the virtues born of pride: frankness, courage, constancy in trial, indomitable hope. Long, long ago, ere Time was, in the boreal sky where gleam the seven magnetic stars, he dwelt in a palace of diamond and gold,