Page:Writings of Oscar Wilde - Volume 03.djvu/36

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18 THE WRITINGS OF OSCAR WILDE.

And when Avarice saw that a third of the multitude was dead she beat her breast and wept. She beat her barren bosom, and cried aloud. "Thou hast slain a third of my servants," she cried, "get thee gone. There is war in the mountains of Tartary, and the kings of each side are calling to thee. The Afghans have slain the black ox, and are marching to battle. They have beaten upon their shields with their spears, and have put on their helmets of iron. What is my valley to thee, that thou should'st tarry in it? Get thee gone, and come here no more. "Nay," answered Death, "but till thou hast given me a grain of corn I will not go." But Avarice shut her hand and clenched her teeth. "I will not give thee anything," she muttered. And Death laughed, and took a cup, and stone, and threw it into the forest, and out of a thicket of wild hemlock came Fever in a robe of flame. She passed through the multitude, and touched them, and each man that she touched died. The grass withered beneath her feet as she walked. And Avarice shuddered, and put ashes on her head. "Thou art cruel," she cried; "thou art

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