hou
hast seen for thyself that what we say is truth, with thy knife
swiftly slay him. Thus shalt thou free thyself from the pitiless doom
meted out by the gods."

Shaking with sobs, Psyche made answer:

"I love him so!... I love him so!"

And her sisters turned upon her with furious scorn and well-simulated
wrath.

"Shameless one!" they cried; "and does our father's daughter confess
to a thing so unutterable! Only by slaying the monster canst thou hope
to regain thy place amongst the daughters of men."

They left her when evening fell, carrying with them their royal gifts.
And while she awaited the coming of her lord, Psyche, provided with
knife and lamp, crouched with her head in her hands, a lily broken by
a cruel storm. So glad was Eros to come back to her, to find her
safely there--for greatly had he feared the coming of that treacherous
pair--that he did not note her silence. Nor did the dark night show
him that her eyes in her sad face looked like violets in a snow
wreath. He wanted only to hold her safely in his arms, and there she
lay, passive and still, until sleep came to lay upon him an omnipotent
hand. Then, very gently, she withdrew herself from his embrace, and
stole to the place where her lamp was hidden. Her limbs shook under
her as she brought it to the couch where he lay asleep; her arm
trembled as she held it aloft.

As a martyr walks to death, so did she walk. And when the yellow light
fell upon the form of him who lay there, still she gazed steadily.

And, lo, before her she saw the form of him who had ever been the
ideal of her dreams. Love himself, incarnate Love, perfect in beauty
and in all else was he whom her sisters had told her was a
monster--he, of whom the oracle had said that neither gods nor men
could resist him. For a moment of perfect happiness she gazed upon his
beauty. Then he turned in his sleep, and smiled, and stretched out
his arms to find the one of his love. And Psyche started, and,
starting, shook the lamp; and from it fell a drop of burning oil on
the white shoulder of Eros. At once he awoke, and with piteous,
pitying eyes looked in those of Psyche. And when he spoke, his words
were like daggers that pierced deep into her soul. He told her all
that had been, all that might have been. Had she only had faith and
patience to wait, an immortal life should have been hers.

"Farewell! though I, a god, can never know
How thou canst lose thy pain, yet time will go