Yet, in spite of the promises which the Egyptian made, and the unspeakable terror of the maidens on account of the plague, it is doubtful if they would have consented to go at the last had it not been for Daphne.

For when the men had fled and most of the maidens, and only those remained whom the stranger had chosen, and to whom he was telling flattering tales in order to take away their dread, Daphne suddenly appeared, having heard of what had taken place.

It chanced that all her family had been taken by the plague, and she was left quite alone,—for, as was well known, she was a native of Miletus. She had been brought by her parents to Athens as a young girl, owing to some political troubles, and was at this time less than twenty years old; and to make this narrative clear to those of a later time who may chance to read it, something must be said of the character of Daphne before these adventures began.

First of all, she was strong of will, and rather ruled than obeyed her parents; and she not only obstinately refused an honourable marriage, but spoke bitterly of the small esteem and respect in which the Athenians held their lawful wives; and she upheld as a model Aspasia, her compatriot, the friend of Pericles, and in all but name his honoured wife. For, whilst the lawful wives of the noblest Athenians were cooped up like children in their own apartments, Aspasia enjoyed perfect freedom, and was entertained of the brightest wits and the wisest and bravest of Athens; and she was knit to Pericles with ties of most ardent affection, far stronger than any bonds fastened by a forced contract, and she was honoured and treated as were the consorts of noble Greeks in olden times, and not regarded merely as a nurse for her husband’s children.

And Daphne had determined, in like manner, to enter into no forced marriage, but to form a fitting connection with some man whom she loved and honoured, if chance so willed it, in marriage, but if not, even as Aspasia with Pericles. And what may perhaps to some seem strange, whilst she had constantly asserted for herself the truest freedom, she had preserved also the strictest virtue. Many Athenian youths had loved her, and some men of good standing, but none had touched her fancy. Like Aspasia, she had been carefully trained in poetry, rhetoric, and music, and she could converse with much acuteness and in a pleasing manner.

Now, when the plague had carried off her natural protectors and desolated the city, Daphne not only despaired in her heart of carrying out her idea in practice, but was afraid for her life, and at the least dreaded that her beauty would be marred or the sharpness of her mind blunted.

And when she was thus cast down in spirit, a maiden of her acquaintance came running, and told her all the Egyptian had promised, saying that they were themselves of Grecian stock, and spoke the language of the old heroes.

And Daphne, although she thought the report an idle tale or a snare, still, seeing that it offered some chance of safety, whilst in the city there seemed none, agreed to hear what the stranger had to say.

She found the maidens in a group apart, weeping and terrified, and taking counsel together; but the Egyptians were talking to one another in an unknown tongue, and laughing, as it were, over a good jest. To Daphne, however, there seemed to be more bitterness than mirth in their laughter, and she swiftly determined not to go, and to dissuade the others also. But suddenly the leader turned his eyes full upon her, and she felt compelled, as if by some superior power, to scan his features closely, and to try to pierce his thoughts.

He was of ordinary stature, and evidently in the full vigour of manhood. His frame was strong, and his appearance denoted the perfection of health; but he did not appear to be trained in athletic exercises in the Greek manner, and his whole bearing was that of a man accustomed to work more with the mind than the body. His forehead was, both in height and breadth, much more massive than was customary with the Athenians. His hair, which was cut very short, and his eyebrows, were perfectly black. He wore no beard, and the fineness of his skin, although darker than that of even Asiatics, seemed almost boyish. His nose and mouth were of the pure Greek type, and the setting of his lips and chin denoted great determination. His eyes, however, formed by far the most striking feature of his person. They were deeply seated under overhanging brows, but their large fulness and intense blackness made them at once seize the attention of the beholder. Even in momentary repose they displayed a wonderful and mysterious depth of intelligence, but the rapid restless motion with which they generally absorbed every detail in the range of sight, revealed a marvellous power of observation and quickness of decision. Their glances seemed to penetrate the inmost recesses of the mind; and the Greek maiden knew at once that she had never seen such power in any countenance, and she felt at first sight the influence of a mighty will.

Daphne was in most respects in striking contrast to the Egyptian leader.

She was more than his equal in the exquisite proportions of her limbs, and she was in the very spring-time of youthful beauty. But her forehead, though broad, was low, and showed no trace of the oppression of thought. Her eyes were like those of the goddesses in Homer, whom, confident in the truth of nature, he boldly praised as being ox-eyed. They seemed as if formed for the display of all the tenderness and longing of the highest human love, but sensuous and passionate they were not, and everything in Daphne’s appearance betokened a well-balanced and restful mind.

Woman she was in perfection, of the purest Greek race, with the soft outlines of a beauty moulded by feeling, with lips ready to respond to affection or to reject scorn with passionate impulse, with a hand soft for caresses, or when knit with anger, strong as the Amazon’s in battle. Power her face showed in abundance, but it was the power of the varying instinct that has reason for its instrument, and utterly unlike that of the Egyptian, in which a glance seemed to show that every passion was under the control of an iron will, and guided by reason only. The woman moved with easy grace, as if every gesture was a pleasure, whilst every movement of the man betokened restless, untiring energy.

When the Egyptian leader saw Daphne with the maidens who had already agreed to make the venture, he first of all seemed astonished at her radiant beauty and her composure of manner, and then said:—

“We had completed the number of those whom we would take, but come thou too if thou wilt, for thou art a goddess-queen amongst the others.”

But she answered—“It seems as if ye wished to take advantage of our terror and steal us away for slaves, for your tale is difficult to believe. Ye boast yourselves to be Greeks, but many tribes of Grecians have I seen, and none with features and hair like yours; and ye speak not Greek to one another, and the language thou thyself speakest seems learned from the books of old poets, and not thy mother’s tongue.”

Then the leader replied—“These men are my servants, and through dwelling long among strangers our appearance has changed.”

And Daphne had from the first been constrained to admit that his countenance seemed much more noble and kingly than the rest; but she said, “Give me some sign that these are thy servants. Why does that man,” pointing to one of them, “sneer at me and laugh so immoderately?”

Then the leader said, “Here is a sign for thee.”

And going up to the man, he struck him full in the face, and the blood started from his lips, and the man fell as one dead, yet none of his companions said a word.

Then Daphne believed in his authority, but she was alarmed by his violence and turned to go. But he said to her—

“Wilt thou indeed go back to a loathsome death when life and honour and riches are open to thee? Wouldst thou through silly fear become like him?” and he pointed to a man at a little distance writhing in the agony of the plague. “I can save thee if thou wilt. See, the plague has no terror for me.”

Then he went up to the sick man and took him by the hand, and looked steadfastly in his face and said, “Thou art fortunate—thou wilt not die of this disease.”

And another plague-stricken wretch near him begged with parched lips for water, but he said, “Too late!” and turned to Daphne.

“Take care it is not too late for thee! We have already more than enough who are willing to go. Still it vexes me to leave the loveliest to black death, and to save others. What more dost thou desire to know or to make me promise?” and he seemed to speak and look in a more kindly manner than before. And suddenly through Daphne’s mind there flashed the words of the poet, “Rather would I live on earth as the hireling of another with a landless man who had no great livelihood, than bear sway among all the dead that be departed.” Then she said, “Promise me one thing. Swear to me by thy strongest oath, and I will go. Swear to me if, when I reach thy country, I like it not, thou wilt send me back unharmed either to Athens or to some Greek city which has escaped the pestilence.”

And he said, “By the respect I owe to my fathers, who are not dead but sleep, awaiting the day of triumph, I swear to thee. It is an oath that cannot be broken.” And his dark eyes flashed, and no sign of deceit appeared in his face; and Daphne said, “I trust thee. I will go.”

And the other maidens gained confidence by what they had seen and heard, and, according to the word of the Egyptian leader, went by different ways and as secretly as possible to a place appointed for meeting, and they said nothing to any they met.