Thus it is; I have made those
Averse to me whom nature formed my friends;
Those, who from me deserved no ill, to win
Thy grace, I gave just cause to be my foes;
And thou, most vile of men, thou hast betrayed me.

EURIPIDES.

Phidias was alone, with a large unfinished drawing before him, on a waxen tablet. Various groups of statues were about the room; among which was conspicuous the beautiful workmanship of Myron, representing a kneeling Paris offering the golden apple to Aphrodite; and by a mode of flattery common with Athenian artists, the graceful youth bore the features of Alcibiades. Near this group was Hera and Pallas, from the hand of Phidias; characterized by a severe majesty of expression, as they looked toward Paris and his voluptuous goddess in quiet scorn.

Stern displeasure was visible in the countenance of the great sculptor. As the maidens entered, with their faces covered, he looked up, and said coldly, "I bade that daughter of unknown parents come into my presence unattended."

Eudora keenly felt the reproach implied by the suppression of her name, which Phidias deemed she had dishonoured; and the tremulous motion of her veil betrayed her agitation.

Philothea spoke in a mild, but firm voice: "Son of Charmides, by the friendship of my father, I conjure you do not require me to forsake Eudora in this hour of great distress."

In a softened tone, Phidias replied: "The daughter of Alcimenes knows that for his sake, and for the sake of her own gentle nature, I can refuse her nothing."

"I give thee thanks," rejoined the maiden, "and relying on this assurance, I will venture to plead for this helpless orphan, whom the gods committed to thy charge. The counsels of Aspasia have led her into error; and is the son of Charmides blameless, for bringing one so young within the influence of that seductive woman?"

After a short pause, Phidias answered: "Philothea, it is true that my pride in her gift of sweet sounds first brought her into the presence of that bad and dangerous man; it was contrary to PhilÆmon's wishes, too; and in this I have erred. If that giddy damsel can tell me the meeting in the garden was not by her own consent, I will again restore her to my confidence. Eudora, can you with truth give me this assurance?"

Eudora made no reply; but she trembled so violently, that she would have sunk, had she not leaned on the arm of her friend.

Philothea, pitying her distress, said, "Son of Charmides, I do not believe Eudora can truly give the answer you wish to receive; but remember in her favour that she does not seek to excuse herself by falsehood. Alcibiades has had no other interview than that one, of which the divine Phoebus sent a messenger to warn me in my sleep. For that fault, the deluded maiden has already suffered a bitter portion of shame and grief."

After a short silence, Phidias spoke: "Eudora, when I called you hither, it was with the determination of sending you to the temple of Castor and Polydeuces, there to be offered for sale to your paramour, who has already tried, in a secret way, to purchase you, by the negociation of powerful friends; but Philothea has not pleaded for you in vain. I will not punish your fault so severely as Alcibiades ventured to hope. You shall remain under my protection. But from henceforth you must never leave your own apartment, without my express permission, which will not soon be granted. I dare not trust your sudden repentance; and shall therefore order a mastiff to be chained to your door. Dione will bring you bread and water only. If you fail in obedience, the fate I first intended will assuredly be yours, without time given for expostulation. Now go to the room that opens into the garden; and there remain, till I send Dione to conduct you to your own apartment."

Eudora was so completely humbled, that these harsh words aroused no feeling of offended pride. Her heart was too full for utterance; and her eyes so blinded with tears, that, as she turned to leave the apartment, she frequently stumbled over the scattered fragments of marble.

It was a day of severe trials for the poor maiden. They had remained but a short time waiting for Dione, when PhilÆmon entered, conducted by Phidias, who immediately left the apartment. Eudora instantly bowed her head upon the couch, and covered her face with her hands.

In a voice tremulous with emotion, the young man said, "Eudora, notwithstanding the bitter recollection of where I last saw you, I have earnestly wished to see you once more—to hear from your own lips whether the interview I witnessed in the garden was by your own appointment. Although many things in your late conduct have surprised and grieved me, I am slow to believe that you could have taken a step so unmaidenly; particularly at this time, when it has pleased the gods to load me with misfortunes. By the affection I once cherished, I entreat you to tell me whether that meeting was unexpected."

He waited in vain for any other answer than audible sobs. After a slight pause, he continued: "Eudora, I wait for a reply more positive than silence. Let me hear from your own lips the words that must decide my destiny. Perchance it is the last favour I shall ever ask."

The repentant maiden, without looking up, answered, in broken accents, "PhilÆmon, I will not add deceit to other wrongs, I must speak the truth, if my heart is broken. I did consent to that interview."

The young man bowed his head in silent anguish against one of the pillars—his breast heaved, and his lips quivered. After a hard struggle with himself, he said, "Farewell, Eudora. I shall never again intrude upon your presence. Many will flatter you; but none will love you as I have loved."

With a faint shriek, Eudora sprung forward, and threw herself at his feet. She would have clasped his knees, but he involuntarily recoiled from her touch, and gathered the folds of his robe about him.

Then the arrow entered deeply into her heart, She rested her burning forehead against the marble pillar, and said, in tones of agonized entreaty, "I never met him but once."

Philothea, who during this scene had wept like an infant, laid her hand beseechingly on his arm, and added, "Son of ChÆrilaÜs, remember that was the only interview."

PhilÆmon shook his head mournfully, as he replied, "But I cannot forget that it was an appointed one.—We can never meet again."

He turned hastily to leave the room; but lingered on the threshold, and looked back upon Eudora with an expression of unutterable sadness.

Philothea perceived the countenance of her unhappy friend grow rigid beneath his gaze. She hastened to raise her from the ground whereon she knelt, and received her senseless in her arms.