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4 ARIADNE.hhnare slaughteredallthe children of his dreams,and from him are driven all the fair companionsof his solitude.Maryx laboured by day and by night in hishouse upon the GoldenHill;butit was labour,itwasno morecreation, and the delight of creation.He worked from habit, from pride, to save himselfperhaps from madness;for there is no friendor physicianHke work ;but his old mother hadsaid rightly — he waslike a dead man. He hadnever spoken any word to me of Gioja since thatnight in the amphitheatre. Indeed,Isaw himbut seldom.Ifelt that my presence was pain tohim, andIfelt remorse. Why hadIcompelledFortune and brought this evil upon him in themidst of his lofty,peaceful, and victorious hfe ?We are sorry meddlers, and play with Fate toomuch.He had never reproached me;but for thatvery forbearance my ownconscience but rebukedme the more.One dayImet himin the park of the PamfiliDoria: they are very grand and lovely, thesewoods, with then: slopes of grass that are