The waters rose and washed smooth the displaced soil, and rippled in a sheet of silver as the sun rose over the place, and effaced all traces of their work, so that no man knew this thing which they had done.
In her death, as in her life, she was friendless and alone; and none avenged her.
The reeds blew together by the river, now red in the daybreak, now white in the moonrise; and the winds sighed through them wearily, for they were songless, and the gods were dead.
The seasons came and went; the waters rose and sank; in the golden willows the young birds made music with their wings; the soft-footed things of brake and brush stole down through the shade of the leaves and drank at the edge of the shore, and fled away; the people passed down the slow current of the stream with lily sheaves of the blossoming spring, with ruddy fruitage of the summer woods, with yellow harvest of the autumn fields,--passed singing, smiting the frail songless as they went.
But none paused there.
For Thanatos alone knew,--Thanatos, who watched by day and night the slain reeds sigh, fruitless and rootless, on the empty air,--Thanatos, who by the cold sad patience of his gaze spoke, saying,--
"I am the only pity of the world. And even I--to every mortal thing I come too early or too late."
THE END.