"If ever you flee from me," he roared, "one of these shall fall on you, and what you will then feel will be so horrible that crushed, burnt, tortured, you will scarcely be able to moan like these wretches. I will show them to you."
He lifted the hand that held the lightnings and illuminated the whole space. No human words can tell what fearful forms filled it. Of every age and sex stricken ones lay around. They wound themselves in agony, they lacerated themselves with their fists, they clawed the stones and with the nails of their hands and feet tried to raise themselves. Horrid wounds were held under the falling drops to cool them. Women writhed in eternal birth-throes and could not bring forth; children beat their heads sore against the rocky walls to overpower the pain that gnawed their entrails. Many lay on their knees and wrung their hands and beat their breasts in unextinguishable remorse. Others lay motionless, as though dead, only their eyes moved slowly in their sockets, following the direction of the light. Sorrow veiled her face and tottered; Pain caught her in his arms and pressed her to his breast.
"As great as are these agonies, so great is my love," he said.
Sorrow wept passionately.
"How could you think Peace could be yours. You have nothing in common with him. You are mine; you belong to me. I have loved you in your deeds without beholding you; your traces delighted my eyes."
He drew her hands away from her face and kissed her. Sorrow closed her eyes that she might not see him, but under her dark lids tears welled forth, which he kissed away.
"Weep, weep, my little maid; your tears are dew, far fairer than your laughter, they refresh and cheer me."
She tried to get loose from him, but he held her with his iron grasp.
"If you are afraid here," he said, "I will bear you to a sweet spot and win you there with violence."