Jason returned to his vessel and trimmed his sails for home.

Merry the hearts that sailed with him, and fresh the winds that wafted
them onward, while, as is usual at sea, nothing occurred during the
voyage worth mentioning an hour after its occurrence. Jason in his new
joy had almost forgotten that withered token. In deep remorse at his
thoughtlessness, he sought his treasure, and, horror of horrors! every
leaf had fallen from the stem, the blossom was annihilated for ever.
He dwelt upon this episode morbidly, as upon a presentiment: he
pictured in his mind the hill-slope cottage deserted, the rose-garden
wasted and full of tares, and the bleak wind blowing whither it listed
through those avenues of beauty, for desolation possessed them all. He
groaned in spirit and wrestled with his new and invisible adversary,
beseeching the Most Merciful, from the bitterness of his suspense, a
speedy deliverance or a happy death.




III.


There were thistles and tares in the unkept rose-garden, and
the cottage was abandoned to a sisterhood of doves, who mourned
perpetually for their lost princess. The place was desolate, yet there
had been no sudden desertion of it. For many months no news had been
heard of the Argonauts. They were considerably overdue: the sages of
Dreamland shook their grizzly heads. They were just as sage and shaky
in those days as in these degenerate times. The maids of the hamlet
wept for a season, then turned from sorrowing, dried their tears, took