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The new leaves of opalescent tint shed odors of faint and passionate sweetness; the birds sang love-songs that smote the sense like a caress; a warm wind yearned and complained in the pine boughs far above her; yet her heart grew heavy, and her eyes dim; she was sick for home; not for the palace and the court; not for her mother and Maddala; but for home; she knew her exile, and wept to return.
So Queen Lura, having now another little daughter, named Maddala, who was just like all other children, and a great comfort to her mother, was the more inclined to grant Maya's prayer.
Long ago the King and Queen died in Larrierepensee, and there the Princess Maddala reigns with a goodly Prince beside her, nor cares for her lost sister; but songless, discrowned, desolate, Maya walks the earth. All ye whose fires burn bright on the hearth, whose dwellings ring with child-laughter, or are hushed with love-whispers and the peace of home, pity the Princess Maya!
Queen Lura cried a little, the Princess Maddala laughed, and Maya went out alone, not lonely, for the Spark burned high and clear, and showed all the legends written on the world everywhere, and Maya read them as she went.
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