“How know you this of her? You have never sought death! you are much too young to desire it!” “I fear your words may indicate that, were you young again, neither would you desire it.” “Indeed, young sir, I would not! and certain I am that you cannot.” “I may not be old enough to desire to die, but I am young enough to desire to live indeed! Therefore I go now to learn if she will at length take me in. You wish to die because you do not care to live: she will not open her door to you, for no one can die who does not long to live.” “It ill becomes your youth to mock a friendless old man. Pray, cease your riddles!” “Did not then the Mother tell you something of the same sort?” “In truth I believe she did; but I gave little heed to her excuses.” “Ah, then, sir,” I rejoined, “it is but too plain you have not yet learned to die, and I am heartily grieved for you. Such had I too been but for the Lady of Sorrow. I am indeed young, but I have wept many tears; pardon me, therefore, if I presume to offer counsel:--Go to the Lady of Sorrow, and ‘take with both hands’ * what she will give you. Yonder lies her cottage. She is not in it now, but her door stands open, and there is bread and water on her table. Go in; sit down; eat of the bread; drink of the water; and wait there until she appear. Then ask counsel of her, for she is true, and her wisdom is great.” He fell to weeping afresh, and I left him weeping. What I said, I fear he did not heed. But Mara would find him! The sun was down, and the moon unrisen, when I reached the abode of the monsters, but it was still as a stone till I passed over. Then I heard a noise of many waters, and a great cry behind me, but I did not turn my head. Ere I reached the house of death, the cold was bitter and the darkness dense; and the cold and the darkness were one, and entered into my bones together. But the candle of Eve, shining from the window, guided me, and kept both frost and murk from my heart. The door stood open, and the cottage lay empty. I sat down disconsolate. And as I sat, there grew in me such a sense of loneliness as never yet in my wanderings had I felt. Thousands were near me, not one was with me! True, it was I who was dead, not they; but, whether by their life or by my death, we were divided! They were alive, but I was not dead enough even to know them alive: doubt WOULD come. They were, at best, far from me, and helpers I had none to lay me beside them! Never before had I known, or truly imagined desolation! In vain I took myself to task, saying the solitude was but a seeming: I was awake, and they slept--that was all! it was only that they lay so still and did not speak! they were with me now, and soon, soon I should be with them!