A tenderer love-story is that which speaks of the sun and the dawn as united at the opening of the day, but of the separation which follows when the sun reveals himself in his true splendour. The parting, however, will not be eternal, for the sun in the evening shall sink into the arms of the west, as in the morning he left those of the east--all the physical appearances at sundown will correspond with those of the dawn--so in poetical language he will be said to return to his love again at the evening of life. In right accord with its natural origin and native attractiveness, we find this story repeated almost identically as regards its chief incidents by all the branches of the Aryan family. For an Indian version of it the reader may consult the story of Urva_s_i and Pururavas, told by Mr. Max Müller from one of the Vedas.[114] Urva_s_i is a fairy who falls in love with Pururavas, a mortal, and consents to become his wife, on condition that she should never see him without his royal garment on, ‘for this is the manner of women.’ For a while they lived together happily; but the Gandhavas, the fairy beings to whom Urva_s_i belonged, were jealous of her love for a mortal, and they laid a plot to separate them. ‘Now, there was a ewe with two lambs tied to the couch of Urva_s_i and Pururavas, and the fairies stole one of them, so that Urva_s_i upbraided her husband and said, “They steal my darlings as though I lived in a land where there is no hero, and no man.” And Pururavas said, “How can that be a land without heroes or men where I am?” and naked he sprang up. Then the Gandhavas sent a flash of lightning, and Urva_s_i saw her husband naked as by daylight. Then she vanished. “I come back,” she said; and went.’ Cupid loves Psyche as Pururavas Urva_s_i, but here the story is so far changed that the woman breaks the condition laid upon their union. Not this time by accident, but from the evil counselling of her two sisters, Psyche disobeys her husband. They have long been married, but she has never seen his face; and doubts begin to arise lest some horrid monster, and not a god, may be the sharer of her couch. So she takes the lamp, and when she deems her husband is fast locked in sleep, gazes upon the face of the god of love. ‘But as she turned at last To quench the lamp, there happed a little thing That quenched her new delight, for flickering, The treacherous flame cast on his shoulder fair A burning drop; he woke, and seeing her there, The meaning of that sad sight knew full well; Nor was there need the piteous tale to tell.’[115]