When Daphne recovered consciousness she was surrounded by her little servants, all of whom manifested the most tender interest in her welfare. She was still in the same apartment, but every vestige of painting and sculpture had been removed, except the beautiful statue in the middle.

Just as she opened her eyes Thoth himself was placing on the statue’s head a wreath of laurel, and a number of the pigmies were encircling the limbs and body with garlands of beautiful flowers.

Thoth had resumed his mask, but removed it as soon as he observed she was aroused. His features were perfectly calm, and saying “All shall be explained to thy liking,” he departed.

The little people drew Daphne in a low carriage back to the palace, and she soon slept, wearied with her passion and wonder.

The next morning Thoth did not appear in person, but sent her a picture, which was obviously intended to soothe her troubled mind. It represented in the most accurate manner the room of the statue, with the walls bare and the image garlanded, just as Daphne had left it. But the chief interest in the picture lay in the fact that Thoth himself was represented as gazing on the statue with the most profound reverence, and as if supplicating for pardon.

For many days he did not appear, and Daphne found herself constantly looking at the picture.

Thoth was certainly a skilled physician, and had administered the best medicine to her mind. In time her repugnance completely wore away, and she forgot a little the horror of her recent anxiety.

Later she reproached herself with injustice. She should have waited for some explanation. And then, as the time went by, she began to wish to see her protector again, and to wonder what he meant by saying to her, “All shall be explained to thy liking.”

Still Thoth came not, nor sent any message, and at last Daphne sent to him one of the pigmies with this request, “All is well. Come to me. I would have the mystery explained.”

In a short time Thoth appeared, and inquired with tender deference if she had recovered from her vexation and anxiety. He spoke as calmly as if it were merely some bodily suffering she had endured, and in which he had no part. But Daphne said to him, “Fulfil thy promise—tell me why I was taken into that dreadful place, and with what intent those horrible designs were made.”

He looked at her narrowly, as a physician at his patient, and said, “I know not if thou canst bear it; and yet everything hangs upon this mystery,—the object of our journey to Athens—the nature of our rule in this city—ay, and the future of the whole human race.”

He spoke slowly and with the most distinct articulation, and the last words were uttered with all the solemnity of a priest interpreting the signs of a great national disaster. He seemed even to increase in stature, and Daphne was overcome with his impressive dignity.

“Tell me everything, I implore thee,” she said.

“Come, then,” he replied; “but arm thine heart with triple brass, for this time it is living women thou must see. Take care, however, to stay thy reproaches till thou hast heard all. Know always that it is my intention to pay honour to thee, and through thee to all women. But the women thou must see first of all will perchance again alarm thee. Art thou strong enough?”

Daphne shuddered, but she was determined to understand the affair, and she replied, “Lead the way.”

Thoth conducted her to a part of the city to which they had never before been, and they stopped at a narrow gate in a lofty wall. Thoth unlocked the gate, and they entered a spacious garden, in the midst of which was placed a huge building.

Scarcely had they passed through the gate when Daphne heard cries of alarm, apparently from women, and saw some figures vanish through the trees in a hurried, fearful manner. For the first time since she had come to the city she noticed signs of distrust and fear. Here, at any rate, Thoth’s rule seemed to rest not on love but on tyranny.

Such was Daphne’s first impression, for the women, if women they were, were plainly terror-stricken.

They passed into the building, at the gate of which a huge giantess of hideous aspect presented Thoth with a scroll, which seemed to be a carefully kept record.

They entered a large hall, and again Daphne saw the same horrible designs as before.

Thoth said to her, “These, too, shall be destroyed, but first we must look to the living.”

At intervals along the hall Daphne observed curtains, and stopping before one of them, Thoth drew it aside and revealed a small cell.

Crouching at the back, like a terrified animal, lay a woman, scantily clad in a tattered garment made of coarse hair.

Her figure seemed robust and healthy, but was rendered hideous by glaring streaks of paint and devices of unclean animals branded on the skin. Still more horrible was her head. She was evidently young, but she had no ears, no eyebrows, no hair. Her mouth had been distended, and her teeth were sharpened to fine points. She grovelled on the ground, as if awaiting torture, and Daphne’s heart stood still with horror and indignation.

Suddenly Thoth addressed the creature in an unknown tongue, and after repeating the same thing over and over again, apparently made the woman understand and believe what he said, for suddenly she gave a sobbing laugh and crouched to kiss his feet.

“I have told her,” said Thoth, “that she need labour no more at her appointed tasks, and will never again be punished. But the thing which pleased her most, and which she could not believe, was that without her request she would never see any of the masked rulers.”

“What were her tasks?” Daphne asked.

“It would be difficult to explain,” said Thoth. “They were all most irksome, most useless, most trifling, but they were exacted with dreadful punishments. She had to count grains of sand, to unravel tangled knots, to learn by rote strings of meaningless sounds, and to discover all kinds of intricate puzzles.”

To confirm his words, Thoth destroyed the various instruments of labour, scattered the sand, tore up the parchments, and stamped upon the fragments of the broken toys. The woman seemed stupefied with incredulous surprise, like a dazed child just recovered from a fit of terror.

They passed on, and Thoth drew the curtain of another cell. Here again the occupant was a woman, but she was exquisitely clothed, and both face and form were extremely beautiful. She shuddered when the masks entered, and hastily began to arrange in a harmonious manner various shades of coloured stuffs. She looked anxiously, too, at the walls of the cell, which were covered with pictures. To Daphne the pictures were perfectly unintelligible, and yet they seemed excellent both in colour and drawing. They were such pictures as might be painted by a great artist whose reason had been destroyed by some calamity.

“Her task,” said Thoth, “is to live entirely for colour and form—in all other respects she is less intelligent than a butterfly.”

Daphne looked into her eyes, and saw at once that she was quite distraught.

Again Thoth repeated the same gibberish, and at last seemed to make the woman understand in a blinking manner that her life would no longer be made a burden. To Daphne, however, it seemed that the message of release had come too late—like longed-for rain after the tree has perished with drought.

Suddenly a thought flashed through her mind, and without asking Thoth’s permission, she threw off her disguise and addressed the artist. At once she uttered a low cry of pleasure, and ran to embrace Daphne. Then she turned to Thoth and spoke to him in broken words. At Daphne’s request Thoth acted as interpreter, and told her the woman wished Daphne to remain as her companion. Daphne wept with pity, and Thoth led her away, the artist in vain trying to repress a cry of despair.

Thus they visited room after room, and through all the variety of occupations in which the miserable women were engaged, the same features were conspicuous. Their labour was, without exception, either most irksome, most useless, most trifling, or else degrading, and yet it evidently required the highest degree of cunning and perseverance.

In appearance, many of the women had been made physically most repulsive,—some maimed, some blind, some almost shapeless with distortion; and those whose bodies had escaped, had been deformed to a much worse extent in mind. Without exception they shuddered on the entry of the masks, and showed their terror in the most undisguised manner. Apparently Thoth tried to take away their fears, and to inform them that for the future they would live happily; but they listened with dull incredulity, and seemed quite hopeless.

In the whole of this vast building there was not a single creature who could have kindled a spark of love in the heart of the most impassioned of men.

Daphne was sickened by the spectacle, and oppressed with a heavy weight of sadness. She tried to escape, but her companion told her it was necessary for her to see more, and that he would show her the least revolting of the women. Daphne shrank from imagining what worse horrors the building might contain.

When they at last emerged the very sunlight seemed polluted, and the fresh air laden with pestilence.

As they made their way to the gate, Thoth spoke to the hideous giantess, and she showed the same surprise as her captives. To her Thoth spoke in a tongue which Daphne understood, and told her that she was to be replaced, and that until another guardian came, she was to leave the women unmolested. The ogress ventured to remonstrate, but at the first sentence Thoth sternly cried, “Darest thou question me?” and touched her hand with the end of his golden staff, whereupon the monster fell as one dead. As if to excuse himself, Thoth said—

“There is no further use for her: it is better thus.”

Then said Daphne, “Is she dead?”

“Yes,” he replied,—“dead beyond all aid; and to all her kind will I do likewise.”

They passed through the gate, and as before, every one they saw treated Thoth with the utmost respect and reverence. But Daphne was silent, weary, and despondent.

The horrors she had witnessed seemed to pervade every nook and cranny of the place. Helplessly she walked by the side of Thoth, and the salutations of her little servants when she entered her dwelling seemed to be as unreal and distant as if they came from the sky.

She felt for the first time her reason totter—she had not strength sufficient to wish to flee from the place, or to rush upon her death. At last she wept passionately, and sank into a troubled sleep.