use he had said that the pools and the basins and the channels were
not all of pure marble, without a flaw. "For this," said he, "is the
evil doctrine that has come in to take away the glory of our city, and
because of this the water has failed."

"It is a sad change," I answered, "and doubtless they who have caused it
should suffer more than others. But can you tell me at what hour and in
what manner the people now observe the visitation of the Source?"

He looked curiously at me and replied: "I do not understand you. There
is no visitation save the inspection of the cisterns and the wells which
the syndics of the city, whom we call the Princes of Water, carry on
daily at every hour. What source is this of which you speak?"

So I went on through the street, where all the passers-by seemed in
haste and wore weary countenances, until I came to the house where I had
lodged. There was a little basin here against the wall, with a slender
stream of water still flowing into it, and a group of children standing
near with their pitchers, waiting to fill them.

The door of the house was closed; but when I knocked, it opened and a
maiden came forth. She was pale and sad in aspect, but a light of joy
dawned over the snow of her face, and I knew by the youth in her eyes
that it was Ruamie, who had walked with me through the vineyards long
ago.

With both hands she welcomed me, saying: "You are expected. Have you
found the Blue Flower?"

"Not yet," I answered, "but something drew me back to you. I would
know how it fares with you, and I would go again with you to visit the
Source."

At this her face grew bright, but with a tender, half-sad brightness.

"The Source!" she said. "Ah, yes, I was sure that you would remember it.
And this is the hour of the visitation. Come, let us go up together."

Then we went alone through the busy and weary multitudes of the city
toward the mountain-path. So forsaken was it and so covered with stones
and overgrown with wire-grass that I could not have found it but for her
guidance. But as we climbed upward the air grew clearer, and more sweet,
and I questioned her of the things that had come to pass in my absence.
I asked her of the kind old man who had taken me into his house when I
came as a stranger. She said, softly, "He is dead."

"And where are the men and women, his friends, who once thronged this
pathway? Are they also dead?"

"They also are dead."

"But where are the younger one