Presently the bean half sprouted, and the sprout split the stone athwart and rent the footprint of the hero. Gud watered the bean with tears, because there was no rain in that place. So the bean grew and on its stem were the leaves of the maiden-hair tree, and the tendrils by which the bean clambered were the tendrils of the snake-feeder vine, and the flowers that sprang from the nodules of the bean stalk were the flowers of the wormwood tree, but they gave forth the odor of liverworts and were of the color of faded hopes or of stale music. Gud cut marks on the bean pole to observe the rate of growth of the bean vine, and he found that it grew much faster than grief dies but not so fast as jealousy is born. And when the bean reached the top of the pole and could grow no more, it conceived and bore a fruit that was like a ripe gourd. Four eyes grew in the face of the fruit and a dim light shone out of the eyes. And Gud heard the patter of tiny feet within, and presently the ghosts of three blind mice came out of the four eyes of the fruit, one out of each of the four eyes, for the third one came out twice. Oh, under the stars are things to see that fold Their shining webs around the hidden sun.... When the flesh is faint and the heart grows limp and old, Surely the work of living is not done. There was a breathless stillness and the crowd Leaned forward, looking on and barely stirred. The surgeon, knife in hand, with spotted shroud, Cut close around the heart and said no word. They saw his patient die, and whispered one Unto another in the clinic there. But yet the surgeon saw strange actions done That streaked his head with strands of snow-white hair. From out the dead man's open chest there crept A shaggy spider shining in the light, That shook itself like one who having slept Puts vainly back the shadows of the night. The surgeon clutched his throat. Within his breast He felt a living thing twist here and there; A thing that stirred from out a deep unrest Like something moving through a drowned man's hair. The students only saw his hair turn white.... But he heard tiny pulses throb and beat, He felt slim fingers clawing out of sight And hearkened to the patter of tiny feet. Then shrieking fell across the clinic floor The students pouring from their seats. Stark dead He must have been for he said nothing more; His fingers twitched and once he moved his head. They did not see that from his mouth there crept A shaggy spider shining in the light, That shook itself like one who having slept Puts vainly back the shadows of the night. Then sideways moved it, trembling as though cold, Following where the other spider ran.... Oh, hidden away there are things that are strange and old, And weave strange webs in the very breast of man. Chapter XII