Her mother was dead
already. It was only that the earth could not bear more children, except
she devoured those to whom she had already given birth. But what if they
had to come back in another form, and live another sad, hopeless, loveless
life over again?--And so she went on questioning, and receiving no
replies; while through all her thoughts passed and repassed the eyes of
Wolkenlicht, which she had often felt to be upon her when she did not see
them, wild with repressed longing, the light of their love shining through
the veil of diffused tears, ever gathering and never overflowing. Then
came the pale face, so worshipping, so distant in its self-withdrawn
devotion, slowly dawning out of the vapours of her reverie. When it
vanished, she tried to see it again. It would not come when she called it;
but when her thoughts left knocking at the door of the lost, and wandered
away, out came the pale, troubled, silent face again, gathering itself up
from some unknown nook in her world of phantasy, and once more, when she
tried to steady it by the fixedness of her own regard, fading back into
the mist.
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