Page:Psyche (1908).djvu/78

 “Have pity!!” she implored. “Pity, pity! What have I done? Why do you punish me so? My God, what have I done? I have trusted, hoped, given my soul in happiness. . . . Is happiness then punished? Is it not good to hope, to trust, and to love? Ought I then to have mistrusted and hated? What do I ask? He no longer hears me! What do I care for the problems of life! Him I love, and in me is nothing but my love and despair, and round me is the desert and the night, and now. . . . now I must die!”

She sobbed, and her tears flowed. She was alone. Around her loomed the night, around her stretched the sands as far as the perceptible horizon. And above her glistened the stars.

And she wept. Her grief was too great for her little soul. She wept.

“Alone!” she sobbed. “Alone. . . .! I will not quench my thirst, I will not refresh myself, nor will I sleep. I am tired, but I will go on. . . .”

On she went, and wept. In the night she walked on through the sand, and she wept. She wept from fear and despair. And she wept so, her tears flowed so many down her cheeks that they fell, her tears, like drops,