They wondered what had come over him, for the image that had been his undoing he never showed them, nor let them know what was troubling his heart. But he made a niche for her in his chamber where the light fell upon her from the window, and at night when he could not sleep he would sit with his arms clasped about her ankles and his head resting on her feet. Her face would look down on him full of pity and love, pale and beautiful in the cold white light of the moon. When the day dawned and the cloudlets clustered red about the rising sun, the warm rays would fall upon her giving to her some hue of life, and Pygmalion's heart would beat high with the hope that a miracle had been wrought, and that his love at last had kindled a soul akin to his own in the marble statue before him. With a cry he would put his arms about her, but still she remained a cold, hard, unresponsive stone. So day by day and week by week he grew more wretched; for there is nought like a passionate love which is unreturned, and which never can be returned, to take out the life from a man. At last Aphrodite had compassion on him, when she saw that he had suffered as much and more than most men at her hands, and that he no longer held her in disdain. One night Pygmalion, as usual, had been kneeling before the statue with his arm clasped about her feet, till, tired out with longing, he had fallen asleep. On the breath of the night wind Aphrodite came in, and she kissed the statue on the lips. [Illustration: On the breath of the night wind Aphrodite came in, and she kissed the statue on the lips.] "Let love kindle life," she said. "Live, Galatea, thou milk-white maid, and bring joy to the heart of Pygmalion." Then she stole forth again through the moonlit casement, and Pygmalion slept on unconscious. In the morning the sunlight streamed in through the window, and fell full upon his face. With a start he awoke, and looked up at the statue, and to his sun-dazed eyes it seemed to move. "O Aphrodite," he cried, "mock me not! Thou hast deceived me so often." In despair he cast his arms about the image, certain that once again he would find her a cold white stone. But lo! instead of unyielding marble he was clasping in his arms a living woman. Her arms were about his neck, her lips on his lips, and she looked into his eyes with a fire that answered the fire in his own. "At last, at last," said he, "my love has prevailed!" "Even in the heart of a stone, Pygmalion," she said, "love can kindle love. My form is the work of thy hand, and my soul is the child of thy love. As long as stone can last, so long shall my body last; and as long as thy love can live, so long shall my soul live also." "My love," he said, "will live for ever." "Then for ever," said she, "my soul will live with thine."