After Thoth had left her, Daphne fell into the most gloomy train of reflection that hitherto had oppressed her since she arrived in this strange city. Before, in her despair some gleams of hope had always appeared, but now there was nothing but black darkness. She had begun to trust Thoth implicitly; after the many trials of his good faith, her trust had grown into perfect confidence, and now it was shattered for ever. She had seen in the man’s eyes a most terrible manifestation of passion, and she had no doubt that she would be treated even more dreadfully than the women she had seen in the abode of horror and lust. Worse than all, she despised herself for the way in which she had in reality led up to such a climax.

Regretful thoughts succeeded one another rapidly. Thoth was evidently a great ruler, who had been accustomed to the most slavish obedience. He was, or had been, desirous of effecting a revolution in the treatment of women, and he had for months treated her with deference and tenderness. Had she rejected his proposal as calmly as it was made, had she not attempted to get fire from snow, at any rate he would have kept to his word and restored her to Greece. She ought to have understood how the nature of the man must have been distorted by his descent through generations of women-haters, and to have wondered at the advances which he had made instead of expecting the impossible.

Never, she thought, could she have become his wife, but she might have been his devoted friend. She would have encouraged him in his projects of reform,—she could have liberated her fellow-women.

Now all was over. She felt covered with shame as she thought how she must have appeared to Thoth,—worse than a sensuous Persian—a mere animal. How he must have despised her when she actually suggested that he should surrender himself to her, as the first of his name to the woman who deceived him.

She despised herself, and for the moment her spirit was crushed. She longed for some sympathy.

She called on her little servants—there was no answer. She went to the door—it was fastened. She was confined in solitude. She wept bitterly.

But after a time her courage and resolution revived, and she thought of the only means of escape now open—death by her own hand.

The sun was high in the heaven, and the garden of the palace was still open to her. She determined to drink again of the freshness of life before she died.

She walked along the beautiful paths, and watched with pleasure the birds and insects. Earth and air seemed full of life, and death seemed terrible. She recalled the wretched fate of the heroines of her native tragic poets. Before she had often wondered why they had not put a term to their sufferings by a moment’s pain. She knew now.

It seemed to her a thing impossible in nature—deliberately to take one’s life, even to avoid misery. She repented that she had not already done the deed when passion had given her courage. The point of the dagger seemed very cold and hard,—life seemed very sweet, and in the glaring sun the gloom of death seemed most black and dismal. At least, if permitted, she must wait till night.

Then she thought on what might have been her fate—on love unknown and hopes shattered.

Again her courage and resolution vanished, and she trembled. She longed with every fibre of her being for some creature to speak with. She almost began to talk to the birds and lizards.

Suddenly her heart stood still with joy—she heard through the trees the twittering song of one of the pigmies, and she rushed in pursuit.

She soon reached the little being—a tiny girl, playing among flowers. Daphne raised her in her arms and kissed her passionately with tears and laughter, showering upon her loving words and caresses. The little maiden responded with unmixed pleasure, and said to her—

“Why does Daphne weep? What is her trouble? I will run and send a message to our lord. Thoth is very wise and good,—he can put an end to any trouble.”

“Alas!” said Daphne, “it is Thoth who is the cause of my distress.”

“Ah!” said the pigmy, laughing, “that is what we sometimes think; but it is never right—our lord is very wise and good.”

“But,” said Daphne, “your troubles, little one, must be as small as your bodies, and this is a very different case.”

“Nay,” rejoined the girl, still laughing; “we, too, think our troubles very great and very new. But Thoth makes everything right. Now I will tell you what happened to me to-day. I was sailing in a little boat in the fountain, and I got to the centre and landed, and my boat drifted away, and I cannot swim. I cried until I slept, and when I awoke I found my boat at my feet, and I am sure that Thoth had put it there.”

The charming simplicity and the guileless confidence of the little maiden renewed hope in Daphne’s breast, and she kissed her and said—

“Wilt thou try to take a message to Thoth from me? But, alas! for my punishment the doors are fastened.”

“They will release me,” said the pigmy, “when they hear my voice. I have done no harm all to-day. I believe Thoth must have left me in the garden to be thy messenger.”

“But,” said Daphne, “thou wast asleep on the island.”

“So much the easier to leave me,” laughed the pigmy. “But tell me the message, and I will run.”

Daphne put down the child, and sat down herself, burying her head in her hand, and tried to think of a message which might move Thoth. Shame and pride, not unmixed with dread, made the task difficult, and the pigmy began to grow restless.

“Shall I ask Thoth to come?—once before I took such a message for thee.”

At last, urged by her affectionate counsellor, Daphne wrote on a tablet these words: “Daphne still believes in the promise which Thoth made on leaving Athens, and prays in all humility that she may be restored to some Grecian city. She is not equal to the high position in which Thoth would have placed her. She is only a woman with the common feelings of nature, and no superior being. But oaths are binding even on the gods.”

She sent the pigmy before her to the palace, for she was too anxious to accompany her.

After a long interval, however, she followed, and found the apartment empty. The pigmy had been liberated, and a repast had been set in the usual place. Hope again arose in Daphne’s breast, though she still feared, from the absence of her little servants, that all was not well. She was too sick at heart to eat or drink, and waited in anxious expectation. At last night fell, but there was no answer of any kind. She lay down on the couch and tried to sleep.

After some hours of the deepest silence, she thought she heard a footfall near the head of the couch.

She started up, and beheld Thoth two or three paces distant.