great and warm, deep into the sand. Her tears flowed down into the sand. And she wept, she kept weeping, and as she went along . . . . her tears did not stop. Then in the sand, her tears so warm and so great, formed little lakes. And as she went and kept going on and weeping, the little lakes flowed into one another, and behind her flowed a stream of tears. Meandering after her flowed her tears. And on she went in the night and wept. . . . After her, meandered faithfully the stream of her tears. . . . And she thought of her lost happiness. . . . He had forsaken her. . . . Why . . . .? She had loved him so, still loved him so. . . . Oh, she would always love him so always, always!
And in her love she did not scold him. For she loved him and scolded not. She longed for no revenge, for she loved him. . . .
“That was fate,” she thought, weeping. “He could not do anything else. He was obliged. . . .”
She wept. And oh! she was so tired, so tired of the wide sky, so tired of the wide sand! Then she thought she could go no farther, and should fall into the stream of her tears. . . . But before her a lofty shadow fell with gloomy dark-
