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240 ARIADNE.made every breath apang tohim such as DanteIdmself neverconceived inhell.There is no justice upon earth:andhardly anyvengeance. AVhen we are young we hope forboth;but we wait and wait,and we grow old,and death comes, but on justice we never havelooked. Death makes all men equal, say thepreachers. Oh, terrible irony! Equal he thethe murdered and the murderer.Once more, and for ever, the sword and theclue of Athene dropped from her weary hands.Art ceased to exist toher; from the sight of thewhiteness ofmarble she shrank as from the sightof a murdered creature;from the calm changelesseyes of the statues she fled as from the gazeof an avenginggod.She was innocent:yetthe Erinnyspursuedher,and night and day she had norest. AVith eachhot month of the summer the spirit within herseemed to faint more and more, and her bodygrew weaker and weaker, tiU at length she coiddnot rise, but lay there stdl and mute as theyoung angels that lie on the tombs with foldedhands and then- wings drooped, waiting

ARIADNE. 241" CouldI but suffer for him! " she said once;and it was still the living man that she meant.The dead waa at rest; but heIdared not say to her the thingIthought :that he suffered nothing, he who had slain menbefore this and only caUed it honour.She lay there,Isay, in the solitude of herchamber, and at last could not rise or moveat aU, and only saw the blue skies, and thechanges of sun and of stars, through the higharchedcasements barred with iron, with theblue veronica flowers hanging down them, andpast them the pigeons flying.The wise men said she should go from Rome,but that she woidd not do. Rome was to heras the mother in whose arms she would fainbreathe herlast.From the height of her chamber even as shelay she could see the whole width of the cityoutspread,and the long dark lines of the pineson the hdls, and the hght which told where thesea was. She would lie and look, as the dyingchUd looks at its mother's face.No one said she was dying;they said it wasVOL. IU. p.

ARIADNE. 241" CouldI but suffer for him! " she said once;and it was still the living man that she meant.<strong>The</strong> dead waa at rest; but heIdared not say to her the thingIthought :that he suffered nothing, he who had slain menbefore this and only caUed it honour.She lay there,Isay, in the solitude of herchamber, and at last could not rise or moveat aU, and only saw the blue skies, and thechanges of sun and of stars, through the higharchedcasements barred with iron, with theblue veronica flowers hanging down them, andpast them the pigeons flying.<strong>The</strong> wise men said she should go from Rome,but that she woidd not do. Rome was to heras the mother in whose arms she would fainbreathe herlast.From the height of her chamber even as shelay she could see the whole width of the cityoutspread,and the long dark lines of the pineson the hdls, and the hght which told where thesea was. She would lie and look, as the dyingchUd looks at its mother's face.No one said she was dying;they said it wasVOL. IU. p.

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