so distinct did the sound become, that Psyche, brave Psyche, who feared neither vampire nor monster of the deep . . . . that courageous Psyche hesitated and felt all her strength giving way. . . .
“If it were vanity to seek, to ask for the Jewel, how much farther should she go?”
“Should she go back?”
She looked round.
But she saw what made her soul sink within her.
She saw that behind her step, the seas immediately closed till they became one single sea of ink; she saw that the only path for her stretched across the seas, that behind her it immediately sank away.
She could not go back, she must go on.
And she buoyed up her sinking soul; she went on, and in a high soprano voice repeated again and again her question:
“Spirits in the sea of pain, where shall I find the Jewel for Emeralda?”
“Vanity, vanity!”
The plaintive viol kept trembling, and the same sound sounded ever, the unchangeable answer. The hurricane was no longer chill,
