Henceforth leave me to my doom.

Dear friend,--kind, simple, loving friend,--make me not more wretched by the remembrance of having thrown fierce hates or loves into the wellspring of your happy life!" "Not follow you!" repeated Donatello, soothed from anger into sorrow, less by the purport of what she said, than by the melancholy sweetness of her voice,--"not follow you! What other path have I ?" "We will talk of it once again," said Miriam still soothingly; "soon--to-morrow when you will; only leave me now.".