editatio
mortis, ever facing towards the act of final detachment. Death,
however, as he reflected, must be for every one nothing less than the
fifth or last act of a drama, and, as such, was likely to have
something of the stirring character of a denouement. And, in fact, it
was in form tragic enough that his end not long afterwards came to him.

In the midst of the extreme weariness and depression which had followed
those last days, Cornelius, then, as it happened, on a journey and
travelling near the place, finding traces of him, had become his guest
at White-nights. It was just then that Marius felt, as he had never
done before, the value to himself, the overpowering charm, of his
friendship. "More than brother!"--he felt--like a son also!"
contrasting the fatigue of soul which made himself in effect an older
man, with the irrepressible youth of his companion. For it was still
the marvellous hopefulness of Cornelius, his seeming prerogative over
the future, that determined, and kept alive, all other sentiment
concerning him. A new hope had sprung up in the world of which he,
Cornelius, was a depositary, which he was to bear onward in it.
Identifying himself with Cornelius in so dear a friendship, through
him, Marius seemed to touch, to ally himself to, [210] actually to
become a possessor of the coming world; even as happy parents reach
out, and take possession of it, in and through the survival of their
children. For in these days their intimacy had grown very close, as
they moved hither and thither, leisurely, among the country-places
thereabout, Cornelius being on his way back to Rome, till they came one
evening to a little town (Marius remembered that he had been there on
his first journey to Rome) which had even then its church and
legend--the legend and holy relics of the martyr Hyacinthus, a young
Roman soldier, whose blood had stained the soil of this place in the
reign of the emperor Trajan.

The thought of that so recent death, haunted Marius through the night,
as if with audible crying and sighs above the restless wind, which came
and went around their lodging. But towards dawn he slept heavily; and
awaking in broad daylight, and finding Cornelius absent, set forth to
seek him. The plague was still in the place--had indeed just broken
out afresh; with an outbreak also of cruel superstition among its wild
and miserable inhabitants. Surely, the old gods were wroth at the
presence of this new enem