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ARIADNE. 15before the genius of his own works, as did yournorthern Swift. For there can be nothing soterrible as to see your soul dead, whilst yet yourbody stiU Hves.SoIwas left alone in the city, and the daysand weeks and months crept slowly " on; ohneHast, ohne Bast," as the German says of thestars. Only, when onehas neither the eager joyof haste,nor the serene joy of rest, Hfe is but apoor and wearisome thing that crawls foot-sore,like a galledmule ona stony way.The mother of Maryx, left all alone on theGolden HiU, did not murmur; she understoodfew things, but she understood why he wasgone." I always said thatit would be so. Ialwayssaid it," she muttered, with her feeble handsfeeHng the wooden cross at her neck, that shehad worn ever since her first communion, whenshe had been a little bright brown-eyed girl,nodoubt, clanking in her wooden shoes over the"sunburnt fields. You see, because he hadmastered that wicked thing so long, and struckit and hewn it into any shape he chose, and