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ARIADNE. 189you ? Imean simply and truly that his love foryouis great enough tovanquishanyremembranceof hiniseU; greatenough too tomakehim holdhishand because you bid him: greater there cannotbe."She put out herhand to sUence me." He received meinto his house whenIhad nofriend and no hope hi the world, and he was sogood to me. If he woulcl but forget me!Ihavebeen thankless. He taught me the strength andthe secrets of the arts, andIhave given him inreturn only pain and ingratitude."" Dear, itis onpain that love lives longest.'Alas! that she knew. She was silent somemoments, whdst above her rose the beauty ofher owncreation.Since shehadreturned tothepursuit and the occupationof art, the youthinher hadrevived;thenumbness and deadness which had seemed like ahalf paralysed inteUigence had passed off her;she had gatheredup the clue and lifted up thesword, and though it was love that nerved herand not art, the effort had brought back inspiration,and inspiration to the artist is the very