ose of a fraternal
character, and as though, upon being allowed her mere friendship, there
could be nothing of which he had a right to complain.

At first, in the agony of his heart, he had no strength to rise above
the weight which crushed him, and to obey the counsels of his pride so
far as to play before her a part of equally assumed indifference. To her
smiling greetings he could return only looks of bitter despair or
passionate entreaty--vainly hoping that he might thereby arouse her
better nature, and bring her in repentance back to him. And at first
sight it seemed not impossible that such a thing might take place; for,
in the midst of all her change of conduct and wilful avoidance of
allusion to the past, she felt no dislike of him. It was merely her love
for him that she had suppressed, and in its place there still remained a
warm regard. If he could have been content with her friendship alone,
she would have granted it all, and would have rejoiced, for the sake of
olden times, to use her influence with others in aid of his upward
progress. Perhaps there were even times when, as she looked upon his
misery and thought of the days not so very far back, in which he had
been all in all to her, her heart may have been melted into something of
its former affection. But if so, it was only for a moment, nor did she
ever allow the weakness to be seen. Her path had been taken, and nothing
now could make her swerve from it. Before her enraptured fancy gleamed
the state and rank belonging to a patrician's wife; and as she wove her
toils with all the resources of her cunning, the prize seemed to
approach her nearer and nearer. Now having advanced so far, she must not
allow a momentary weakness to imperil all. And therefore unwaveringly
she daily met her former lover with the open smile of friendly greeting,
inviting confidence, mingled with the same indescribable glance,
forbidding any renewal of love.

And so days passed by, and Cleotos, arousing from his apathetic despair,
felt more strongly that, if the lapse of love into mere friendship is a
misfortune, the offer of friendship as a substitute for promised love is
a mockery and an insult: his soul rebelled at being made a passive party
to such a bargain; and he began himself to play the retaliatory part
which a wronged nature naturally suggests to itself. Like Leta, he
learned to hold out the limpid hand in careless greeting, or to mutter
meaningless and cold compliment