Then I saw a few wild-flowers blossoming beside the path.

We drew near to the Source, and entered into the chamber
hewn in the rock. She kneeled and bent over the sleeping
spring. She murmured again and again the beautiful name of
him who had died to find it. Her voice repeated the song that
had once been sung by many voices. Her tears fell softly on
the spring, and as they fell it seemed as if the water stirred
and rose to meet her bending face, and when she looked up it
was as if the dew had fallen on a flower.

We came very slowly down the path along the river Carita,
and rested often beside it, for surely, I thought, the rising
of the spring had sent a`little more water down its dry bed, and
some of it must flow on to the city. So it was almost evening
when we came back to the streets. The people were hurrying to
and fro, for it was the day before the choosing of new Princes of
Water; and there was much dispute about them, and strife over the
building of new cisterns to hold the stores of rain which might
fall in the next year. But none cared for us, as we passed by
like strangers, and we came unnoticed to the door of the house.

Then a great desire of love and sorrow moved within my
breast, and I said to Ruamie, "You are the life of the city,
for you alone remember. Its secret is in your heart, and your
faithful keeping of the hours of visitation is the only cause
why the river has not failed altogether and the curse of
desolation returned. Let me stay with you, sweet soul of all
the flowers that are dead, and I will cherish you forever.
Together we will visit the Source every day; and we shall turn