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 And she beckoned to it to approach, to descend to her; but it flew past over the castle. Then she missed it again for many days, and, angry, she looked at the sky and scolded the wind. But then the horse came again, and, laughing, she beckoned to it. The horse ascended high, its wings expanded in the air, and oh, wonder! it beckoned to her to come up, up to it. She gave a sign that she could not, shook her little shoulders helplessly, and, trembling, flapped her wings and spread her arms wide out to say that she could not. And the horse sped away on the breath of the wind from the East.

Then Psyche wept, and, sad at heart, sat looking at the far, far-off landscapes which she would never reach.

But weeks afterwards the treasure-bringing wind blew again, and again appeared the horse in the horizon, and it flew near and beckoned to Psyche, her heart heavy with hope and fear. . . . The horse mounted up; it beckoned to her. . . . She gave a sign that she could not; and oh! she feared that it would speed away again, the horse with the strong wings.

No. . . . no. . . . the horse descended!