O Zeus! why hast thou given us certain proof
To know adulterate gold, but stamped no mark,
Where it is needed most, on man's base metal?

EURIPIDES.

When Philothea returned to her grandfather's apartment, she found the good old man with an open tablet before him, and the remainder of a rich cluster of grapes lying on a shell by his side.

"I have wanted you, my child," said he, "Have you heard the news all Athens is talking of, that you sought your friend so early in the day? You are not wont to be so eager to carry tidings."

"I have not heard the rumours whereof you speak," replied Philothea. "What is it, my father?"

"Hipparete went from Aspasia's house to her brother Callias, instead of the dwelling of her husband," rejoined Anaxagoras: "by his advice she refused to return; and she yesterday appealed to the archons for a divorce from Alcibiades, on the plea of his notorious profligacy. Alcibiades, hearing of this, rushed into the assembly, with his usual boldness, seized his wife in his arms, carried her through the crowd, and locked her up in her own apartment. No man ventured to interfere with this lawful exercise of his authority. It is rumoured that Hipparete particularly accused him of promising marriage to Electra the Corinthian, and Eudora, of the household of Phidias."

For the first time in her life, Philothea turned away her face, to conceal its expression, while she inquired in a tremulous tone whether these facts had been told to PhilÆmon, the preceding evening.

"Some of the guests were speaking of it when he entered," replied Anaxagoras; "but no one alluded to it in his presence. Perhaps he had heard the rumour, for he seemed sad and disquieted, and joined little in the conversation."

Embarrassed by the questions which her grandfather was naturally disposed to ask, Philothea briefly confessed that a singular change had taken place in Eudora's character, and begged permission to silent on a subject so painful to her feelings. She felt strongly inclined to return immediately to her deluded friend; but the hopelessness induced by her recent conversation, combined with the necessity of superintending Milza in some of her household occupations, occasioned a few hours' delay.

As she attempted to cross the garden for that purpose, she saw Eudora enter hastily by the private gate, and pass to her own apartment. Philothea instantly followed her, and found that she had thrown herself on the couch, sobbing violently. She put her arms about her neck, and affectionately inquired the cause of her distress.

For a long time the poor girl resisted every soothing effort, and continued to weep bitterly. At last, in a voice stifled with sobs, she said, "I was indeed deceived; and you, Philothea, was my truest friend; as you have always been."

The tender-hearted maiden imprinted a kiss upon her hand, and asked whether it was Hipparete's appeal to the archons, that had so suddenly convinced her of the falsehood of Alcibiades.

"I have heard it all," replied Eudora, with a deep blush; "and I have heard my name coupled with epithets never to be repeated to your pure ears. I was so infatuated that, after you left me this morning, I sought the counsels of Aspasia, to strengthen me in the course I had determined to pursue. As I approached her apartment, the voice of Alcibiades met my ear. I stopped and listened. I heard him exult in his triumph over Hipparete; I heard my name joined with Electra, the wanton Corinthian. I heard him boast how easily our affections had been won; I heard—"

She paused for a few moments, with a look of intense shame, and the tears fell fast upon her robe.

In gentle tones Philothea said, "These are precious tears, Eudora. They will prove like spring-showers, bringing forth fragrant blossoms."

With sudden impulse, the contrite maiden threw her arms around her neck, saying, in a subdued voice, "You must not be so kind to me—it will break my heart."

By degrees the placid influence of her friend calmed her perturbed spirit. "Philothea," she said, "I promise with solemn earnestness to tell you every action of my life, and every thought of my soul; but never ask me to repeat all I heard at Aspasia's dwelling. The words went through my heart like poisoned arrows."

"Nay," replied Philothea, smiling; "they have healed, not poisoned."

Eudora sighed, as she added, "When I came away, in anger and in shame, I heard that false man singing in mockery:

"Count me on the summer trees
Every leaf that courts the breeze;
Count me on the foamy deep
Every wave that sinks to sleep;
Then when you have numbered these,
Billowy tides and leafy trees,
Count me all the flames I prove,
All the gentle nymphs I love."

Philothea, how could you, who are so pure yourself, see so much clearer than I did the treachery of that bad man?"

The maiden replied, "Mortals, without the aid of experience, would always be aware of the presence of evil, if they sought to put away the love of it in their own hearts, and in silent obedience listened to the voice of their guiding spirit. Flowers feel the approach of storms, and birds need none to teach them the enmity of serpents. This knowledge is given to them as perpetually as the sunshine; and they receive it fully, because their little lives are all obedience and love."

"Then, dearest Philothea, you may well know when evil approaches. By some mysterious power you have ever known my heart better than I myself have known it. I now perceive that you told me the truth when you said I was not blinded by love, but by foolish pride. If it were not so, my feelings could not so easily have turned to hatred. I have more than once tried to deceive you, but you will feel that I am not now speaking falsely. The interview you witnessed was the first and only one I ever granted to Alcibiades."

Philothea freely expressed her belief in this assertion, and her joy that the real character of the graceful hypocrite had so soon been made manifest. Her thoughts turned towards PhilÆmon; but certain recollections restrained the utterance of his name. They were both silent for a few moments; and Eudora's countenance was troubled. She looked up earnestly in her friend's face, but instantly turned away her eyes, and fixing them on the ground, said, in a low and timid voice, "Do you think PhilÆmon can ever love me again?"

Philothea felt painfully embarrassed; for when she recollected how deeply PhilÆmon was enamoured of purity in women, she dared not answer in the language of hope.

While she yet hesitated, Dione came to say that her master required the attendance of Eudora alone in his apartment.

Phidias had always exacted implicit obedience from his household, and Eudora's gratitude towards him had ever been mingled with fear. The consciousness of recent misconduct filled her with extreme dread. Her countenance became deadly pale, as she turned toward her friend, and said, "Oh, Philothea, go with me."

The firm-hearted maiden took her arm gently within her own, and whispered, "Speak the truth, and trust in the Divine Powers."