thankfulness, because you have cared for and refreshed me. My love is . . . .”
She paused for a moment, and rose from the bed.
“What, Psyche?” said he gently, and stood up.
“My love is deep, submissive respect, O Eros, because you wanted to weep my tears and give me the wish of my heart, which, had it been fulfilled, would have caused you the most poignant grief.”
She sank upon her knees and took his hand in hers and kissed it long. He lifted her up and pressed her to his breast.
“My gentle Psyche!” said he. “My child and my wife and my tender princess! Kneel not to me. In love it is sweet to give and to suffer. Love gives, and love suffers. . . .”
“I have only suffered, but not given,” said Psyche, in a low tone.
“To suffer is to give most. To give to one we love the suffering of his suffering soul, is the greatest gift that can be given, my child and my princess! Try, with the remembrance sacred to Suffering and Love, endured and loved, to be happy in the Present. Oh, let the Past be a remembrance, a sacred re-
