sleeping warrior. The place had awe and seduction for her stronger than anything else, even stronger than the sea. She felt that the earth held a mystery, a whole inner world of mute motionless creatures.
Of death she had never thought except on that one day when Joconda had spoken of dying. She had seen the dull black bier go by borne by the beccamorti; she had seen the torches flare as the dead went home, and knew that they were put away underground, and wondered that they were not thrown into the sea. Children, who had been at play on the shore beside her one week, the next were dead of fever, and were buried; that she knew very well, but she had never thought about it. These skeletons on their beds of rock were the first creatures that made her think of the fate that waits for every living thing.
Was he dead indeed, that hero robed in golden beauty, who had passed out under the stars and been seen no more? Then death could not be terrible, she thought; to lie still undisturbed till you went out to the stars and the clouds, that was so sweet and grand, no one need fear it.
She conquered her first terror and went
