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ARIADNE. 57think he was cruel to her; no,Ithink not;heonly left her: that is not cruelty, they say." AVhen the spring came, and all those lilacswere in flower, and the air, evenin this place,was sweet, she was all the clay long in thegarden,Icould see her shadow always on thegrass ; the grass hardly ever had his shadow, too.SometimesIfollowed him, andIsaw how hespent his nights;ifIhad been strong, like yoursculptor,Iwoulcl have killed him, butIam onlyaboy, — why did not the sculptor come ? TheRoman womanwent away,and he went also;Ilearned from his people that he had left no wordwhere he had gone." She used to walk to and fro in the moonlightunder the trees, till one was sick to see her.All day long she did nothing, nothing, only sitand listen,Isuppose, for his steps, or thesound of some one bringing some word fromhim. She got a look on her face like thelook that your dog's eyes have when it losesyou in a crowd. . You know whatImean.Men came and tried to see her;men who werehis friends, that is their friendship; — but never