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ARIADNE. 149sometimes, and knew those haunting eyes thathave all the woe of all creation in their appeal.And what to me was the most hopeless sorrowof all was this, that every memory and impulseof art seemed extinct in her. AAThat had oncebeen the exclusive passion of her life seemed tohave been trodden clown and stamped out by theyet more absolute and yet more tyrannical passionwhich had dethroned it; as a great stormwave rises, and sweepsover, andeffaces, all landmarksand dwellings of the earth wherever itreaches, so had the passion of Hilarion sweptaway every other thought and feeling.The sickness and the sorrow round her shewoulcl do her best to help, going from one to another,silent and afraid of no pestilence. Thej>eople were afraid of her,but she was neverso ofthem,evenwhen the breathof their lips wasdeath.To the httle children she was very tender, she,who had never seemed even to see that thechildren played in the sun, or smiled at theirmother's bosoms; and she would touch themgently,and a great anguish would comeinto hereyes,that nowwerealways so wistful,and strained