arated from her husbanda s inanimate shape, and building herself a little hut under the waringin trees, she still, day by day, repaired to the stone, which bore Poerwa-kalia s semblance, with sacrifices and prayers and tears. And often, in a transport of love and grief, she would throw her arms about the inert mass, closely embracing it, and, into its deaf ear, murmur soft words and vows
Bamboo -bridge across the Tji-taroon.
of eternal loyalty, and bitter-sweet memories of the days that were no more. Her tears, still flowing, fell on the stone underfoot, day by day, month by month, year by year, until at last it became soft and yielding as clay, and received and retained the impress of those tender feet, which for so long had known no other resting place.
From these memories of an empire overthrown, a