and bloody. "O hapless girl," said he, "I have been the cause of
thy death! Thou, more worthy of life than I, hast fallen the first
victim. I will follow. I am the guilty cause, in tempting thee
forth to a place of such peril, and not being myself on the spot
to guard thee. Come forth, ye lions, from the rocks, and tear this
guilty body with your teeth." He took up the veil, carried it with
him to the appointed tree, and covered it with kisses and with
tears. "MY blood also shall stain your texture," said he, and
drawing his sword plunged it into his heart. The blood spurted
from the wound, and tinged the white mulberries of the tree all
red; and sinking into the earth reached the roots, so that the red
color mounted through the trunk to the fruit.

By this time Thisbe, still trembling with fear, yet wishing not to
disappoint her lover, stepped cautiously forth, looking anxiously
for the youth, eager to tell him the danger she had escaped. When
she came to the spot and saw the changed color of the mulberries
she doubted whether it was the same place. While she hesitated she
saw the form of one struggling in the agonies of death. She
started back, a shudder ran through her frame as a ripple on the
face of the still water when a sudden breeze sweeps over it. But
as soon as she recognized her lover, she screamed and beat her
breast, embracing the lifeless body, pouring tears into its
wounds, and imprinting kisses on the cold lips. "O Pyramus," she
cried, "what has done this? Answer me, Pyramus; it is your own
Thisbe that speaks. Hear me, dearest, and lift that drooping
head!" At the name of Thisbe Pyramus opened his eyes, then closed
them again. She saw her veil stained with blood and the scabbard
empty of its sword. "Thy own hand has slain thee, and for my
sake," she said. "I too can be brave for once, and my love is as