Hermippus and Aristeides were gone, Democrates remained in Troezene. His business, he said, was more diplomatic than military, and he was expecting advices from the islands which he must take to Pausanias in person. He had a number of interviews with Themistocles, when it was observed that every time he came away with clouded brow and gruff answers to all who accosted. It began to be hinted that all was not as well as formerly between the admiral and the orator, that Democrates had chosen to tie too closely to Aristeides for the son of Neocles’s liking, and that as soon as the campaign was decided, a bitter feud would break out betwixt them. But this was merest gossip. Outwardly Democrates and Themistocles continued friends, dined together, exchanged civilities. On the day when Themistocles was to sail for Delos he walked arm in arm with Democrates to the quay. The hundreds of onlookers saw him embrace the young strategus in a manner belying any rumour of estrangement, whilst Democrates stood on the sand waving his good wishes until the admiral climbed the ladder of the NausicaÄ.

It was another day and landscape which the stranger in Hellas would have remembered long. The haven of Troezene, noblest in Peloponnesus, girt by its two mountain promontories, Methana and the holy hill Calauria, opened its bright blue into the deeper blue of the Saronic bay. Under the eye of the beholder Ægina and the coasts of Attica stood forth, a fit frame to the far horizon. Sun, sea, hills, and shore wrought together to make one glorious harmony, endless variety, yet ordered and fashioned into a divine whole. “Euopis,” “The Fair-Faced,” the beauty-loving dwellers of the country called it, and they named aright.

Something of the beauty touched even Hermione as she [pg 353]stood on the hill slope, gazing across the sea. Only Cleopis was with her. The young widow had less trembling when she looked on the NausicaÄ than when one year before the stately trireme had sailed for Artemisium. If ill news must come, it would be from the plains of Boeotia. Most of Themistocles’s fleet was already at Delos. He led only a dozen sail. When his squadron glided on into the blue deep, the haven seemed deserted save for the Carthaginian trader that swung at her cables close upon the land. As Hermione looked and saw the climbing sun change the tintings of the waters, here spreading a line of green gold amidst the blue, here flashing the waves with dark violet, something of the peace and majesty of the scene entered into her own breast. The waves at the foot of the slope beat in monotonous music. She did not wonder that Thetis, Galatea, and all the hundred Nereids loved their home. Somewhere, far off on that shimmering plain, Glaucon the Beautiful had fallen asleep; whether he waked in the land of Rhadamanthus, whether he had been stolen away by Leucothea and the other nymphs to be their playfellow, she did not know. She was not sad, even to think of him crowned with green seaweed, and sitting under the sea-floor with fish-tailed Tritons at their tables of pearl, while the finny shoals like birds flitted above their heads. Thales the Sage made all life proceed out of the sea. Perchance all life should return to it. Then she would find her husband again, not beyond, but within the realms of great Oceanus. With such beauty spreading out before her eyes the phantasy was almost welcome.

The people had wandered homeward. Cleopis set the parasol on the dry grass where it would shade her mistress and betook herself to the shelter of a rock. If Hermione was pleased to meditate so long, she would not deny her slave a siesta. So the Athenian sat and mused, now sadly, now [pg 354]with a gleam of brightness, for she was too young to have her sun clouded always.

A speaker near by her called her out of her reverie.

“You sit long, kyria, and gaze forth as if you were Zeus in Olympus and could look on all the world.”

Hermione had not exchanged a word with Democrates since that day she cast scorn on him on that other hill slope at Munychia, but this did not make his intrusion more welcome. With mortification she realized that she had forgotten herself. That she lay on the sunny bank with her feet outstretched and her hair shaken loose on her shoulders. Her feet she instantly covered with her long himation. Her hands flew instantly to her hair. Then she uprose, flushing haughtily.

“It has pleased my father, sir,” she spoke with frigid dignity, “to tell me that you are some day perchance to be my husband. The fulfilment lies with the gods. But to-day the strategus Democrates knows our customs too well to thrust himself upon an Attic gentlewoman who finds herself alone save for one servant.”

“Ah, kyria; pardon the word, it’s overcold; makaira, I’d say more gladly,” Democrates was marvellously at his ease despite her frowns, “your noble father will take nothing amiss if I ask you to sit again that we may talk together.”

“I do not think so.” Hermione drew herself up at full height. But Democrates deliberately placed himself in the path up the hillside. To have run toward the water seemed folly. She could expect no help from Cleopis, who would hardly oppose a man soon probably to be her master. As the less of evils, Hermione did not indeed sit as desired, but stood facing her unloved lover and hearkening.

“How long I’ve desired this instant!” Democrates looked as if he might seize her hands to kiss them, but she thrust [pg 355]them behind her. “I know you hate me bitterly because, touching your late husband, I did my duty.”

“Your duty?” Nestor’s eloquence was in her incredulous echo.

“If I have pained you beyond telling, do you think my act was a pleasant one for me? A bosom friend to ruin, the most sacred bonds to sever, last and not least, to give infinite sorrow to her I love?”

“I hardly understand.”

Democrates drew a step nearer.

“Ah! Hera, Artemis, Aphrodite the Golden—by what name shall I call my goddess?” Hermione drew back a step. There was danger in his eyes. “I have loved you, loved you long. Before Glaucon took you in marriage I loved you. But Eros and Hymen hearkened to his prayers, not mine. You became his bride. I wore a bright face at your wedding. You remember I was Glaucon’s groomsman, and rode beside you in the bridal car. You loved him, he seemed worthy of you. Therefore I trod my own grief down into my heart, and rejoiced with my friends. But to cease loving you I could not. Truly they say Eros is the strongest god, and pitiless—do not the poets say bloody Ares begat him—”

“Spare me mythologies,” interposed Hermione, with another step back.

“As you will, but you shall hearken. I have desired this moment for two years. Not as the weak girl given by her father, but as the fair goddess who comes to me gladly, I do desire you. And I know you will smile on me when you have heard me through.”

“Keep back your eloquence. You have destroyed Glaucon. That is enough.”

“Hear me.” Democrates cried desperately now. Her[pg 356]mione feared even to retreat farther, lest he pass to violence. She summoned courage and looked him in the eye.

“Say on, then. But remember I am a woman and alone save for Cleopis. If you profess to love me, you will not forget that.”

But Democrates was passing almost beyond the limits of coherent speech.

“Oh, when you come to me, you will not know what a price I have paid for you. In Homer’s day men wooed their wives with costly gifts, but I—have I not paid for you with my soul? My soul, I say—honour, friendship, country, what has weighed against Himeros, ‘Master Desire,’—the desire ever for you!”

She hardly understood him, his speech flowed so thick. She knew he was on the edge of reason, and feared to answer lest she drive beyond it.

“Do you hear the price I have paid? Do you still look on in cold hate, lady? Ah, by Zeus, even in your coldest, most forbidding mood you are fair as the Paphian when she sprang above the sea! And I will win you, lady, I will win your heart, for they shall do you homage, even all Athens, and I will make you a queen. Yes! the house of Athena on the Acropolis shall be your palace if you will, and they will cry in the Agora, ‘Way, way for Hermione, glorious consort of Democrates our king!’ ”

“Sir,” spoke Hermione, while her hands grew chill, for now she was sure he raved, “I have not the joy to comprehend. There is no king in Athens, please Athena, there never will be. Treason and blasphemy you speak all in one.” She sought vainly with her eyes for refuge. None in sight. The hill slope seemed empty save for the scattered brown boulders. Far away a goat was wandering. She motioned to Cleopis. The old woman was staring now, and doubtless [pg 357]thought Democrates was carrying his familiarities too far, but she was a weak creature, and at best could only scream.

“Treason and blasphemy,” cried Democrates, dropping on his knees, his frame shaking with dishonest passion, “yes! call them so now. They will be blessed truth for me in a month, for me, for you. Hermes the Trickster is a mighty god. He has befriended Eros. I shall possess Athens and possess you. I shall be the most fortunate mortal upon earth as now I am most miserable. Ah! but I have waited so long.” He sprang to his feet. “Tarry, makaira, tarry! A kiss!”

Hermione screamed at last shrilly and turned to fly. Instantly Democrates was upon her. In that fluttering white dress escape was hopeless.

“Apollo pursuing Daphne!”—his crazed shout as his arms closed around her,—“but Daphne becomes no laurel this time. Her race is lost. She shall pay the forfeit.”

She felt him seize her girdle. He swung her face to face. She saw his wide eyes, his mad smile. His hot breath smote her cheek. Cleopis at last was screaming.

“Mine,” he triumphed, while he forced her resisting head to his own, “there is none to hinder!”

But even while the woman’s flesh crept back at his impure kiss, a giant power came rending the twain apart. A man had sundered them, sprung from the ground or from heaven belike, or from behind a boulder? He tore Democrates’s hands away as a lion tears a lamb. He dashed the mad orator prone upon the sod, and kicked him twice, as of mingled hatred and contempt. All this Hermione only knew in half, while her senses swam. Then she came to herself enough to see that the stranger was a young man in a sailor’s loose dress, his features almost hidden under the dishevelled hair and beard. All this time he uttered no word, but having smitten [pg 358]Democrates down, leaped back, rubbing his hands upon his thigh, as if despising to touch so foul an object. The orator groaned, staggered upward. He wore a sword. It flew from its scabbard as he leaped on the sailor. The stranger put forth his hand, snatched his opponent’s wrist, and with lightning dexterity sent the blade spinning back upon the grass. Then he threw Democrates a second time, and the latter did not rise again hastily, but lay cursing. The fall had not been gentle.

But all this while Cleopis was screaming. People were hastening up the hill,—fishermen from a skiff upon the beach, slaves who had been carrying bales to the haven. In a moment they would be surrounded by a dozen. The strange sailor turned as if to fly. He had not spoken one word. Hermione herself at last called to him.

“My preserver! Your name! Blessed be you forever!”

The fisherfolk were very close. Cleopis was still screaming. The sailor looked once into the lady’s eyes.

“I am nameless! You owe me nothing!” And with that he was gone up the hill slopes, springing with long bounds that would have mocked pursuing, had any attempted. But Cleopis quenched her outcry instantly; her screams had been drowned by a louder scream from Hermione, who fell upon the greensward, no marble whiter than her face. The nurse ran to her mistress. Democrates staggered to his feet. Whatever else the chastisement had given him, it had restored his balance of mind. He told the fisherfolk a glib story that a sailor wandering along the strand had accosted Hermione, that he himself had chased the villain off, but had tripped whilst trying to follow. If the tale was not of perfect workmanship at all points, there was no one with interest to gainsay it. A few ran up the hill slope, but the sailor was nowhere in sight. Hermione was still speechless. [pg 359]They made a litter of oars and sail-cloth and carried her to her mother. Democrates oiled Cleopis’s palm well, that she should tell nothing amiss to Lysistra. It was a long time before Hermione opened her eyes in her chamber. Her first words were:—

“Glaucon! I have seen Glaucon!”

“You have had a strange dream, philotata,” soothed Lysistra, shifting the pillows, “lie still and rest.”

But Hermione shook her shining brown head and repeated, many times:—

“No dream! No dream! I have seen Glaucon face to face. In that instant he spoke and looked on me I knew him. He lives. He saved me. Ah! why does he stay away?”

Lysistra, whose husband had not deemed it prudent to inform her of Themistocles’s revelations, was infinitely distressed. She sent for the best physicians of the city, and despatched a slave to the temple of Asclepius at Epidaurus—not distant—to sacrifice two cocks for her daughter’s recovery. The doctors looked wise and recommended heavy doses of spiced wine, and if those did not suffice, said that the patient might spend a night in the temple of the Healer, who would no doubt explain the true remedy in a dream. A “wise woman” who had great following among the slaves advised that a young puppy be tied upon Hermione’s temples to absorb the disaffection of her brain. Lysistra was barely persuaded not to follow her admonitions. After a few days the patient grew better, recovered strength, took an interest in her child. Yet ever and anon she would repeat over Phoenix’s cradle:—

“Your father lives! I have seen him! I have seen him!”

What, however, puzzled Lysistra most, was the fact that Cleopis did not contradict her young mistress in the least, but maintained a mysterious silence about the whole adventure.