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ARIADNE. 259ATatican there were long low lines of tremulousluminance,and a vast held of pale, softblue, and above it a deep flush hke ' the awfulrose of dawn.'He closedhis eyes as aUits beauty met them.Never more could he look with calm gaze at allthe lovely mysteries of the air, or watch withpeace the glories of the sky.We passed without a word through the entangledstreets of the city.At last we reached her threshold,and climbedthe winding stair.It was almost dark: they had lit one lamp.There was the cryof the owls inthe dusk.Iopened her door. She lay quite still asIhadleft her; the chin gold of her curls seU overthe broad low brow that was the brow ofAriadne;her hps were slightly parted;her eyesgazedat the westernsky:where shelooked,therewas stiU a pale radiance and aflush left by thedead clay.Isigned tohim to enter.He entered; and looked." My God! She is dying!" he caUed aloud,