Then she went through the palace and bade farewell to all the servants. To each one she gave her hand, even to the meanest slave of them all, and spoke kindly to them. And they bathed her hand with their tears, for they loved their mistress, and knew that when she died they would lose a good friend. As she went the children clung weeping about her skirts, for they, too, knew that she must die.
Last of all she went alone to her chamber, for she could endure no more; and she threw herself upon her couch, and wept as though her heart would break. She kissed the pillows and smoothed them tenderly with her hands.
"Alas, alas! for the happy days on earth," she cried, "and happiest of all the years that I have lived here as the wife of Admetus! Farewell, my couch—farewell for ever!"
She tried to tear herself away, but again and again when she had reached the door she turned back and fell once more weeping upon her couch. At last she felt the weakness of death creeping over her, and she knew if she did not leave her chamber then, she would leave it nevermore alive. All her tears were spent, and she had no strength left to weep any more. Outside in the great hall Admetus sat with his head upon his hands, weeping for his wife, and cursing the bitterness of his fate. And she went and stood beside him.
"Take me out into the sunlight, Admetus," she said; "the darkness within oppresses me. I can breathe more freely in the air."
When he looked at her he was afraid, for she was as pale as death. Gently he raised her in his arms, and placed her on a couch in the portico before the palace. And when she saw the blue sky and the sunshine she smiled.
"O sun and light of day," she said, "and ye dancing, eddying clouds, farewell!"
"O ye gods, have mercy!" cried Admetus. "My dearest, look up, and leave me not all desolate."
But with a cry of fear she started up, and pointed in front.