BY THE RIVER CAYSTER
The grove of Hecate was filled with beautiful trees--palm and myrtle,
cypress and pine, the rich springing laurel, and the holy shoot of the
deep blue olive.
Statues studded the wood, and the river Cenchrius watered the ground,
and here had been heard the sound of the dance-loving lyre at the feasts
of the gods.
Through this tree-clustering wood the fair-haired Muses came to worship,
and the Sybil let loose her golden locks when the gods breathed on her.
The Cayster came south to the margin of the grove, moving rapidly
northward and westward, sweeping by myriad blooms of the rose and iris,
till it flowed from the land to the sea, carrying with it the snow-born
waters of Cenchrius, Marnas, and Selinus--all goodly streams which
watered the plain of Ephesus.
* * * * *
The priestess Saronia was thoughtful and calm. Not a ripple of agitation
crossed her face as she gave her orders to a sacred slave:
'Summon seven of the Melissae--my bees, my virgin priestesses.'
She said to them:
'Prepare sacrifice for to-night. I offer to Hecate in the Sacred Grove.
Take there a lamb, black as night, and honey of the rarest kind bear ye.
Let the slaves dig a new pit, and place an altar therein, that all may
be ready when I come. I leave the Temple gate when the watch tells out
the hour before midnight. Merina and Smyrna shall accompany me to the
confines of the grove.'
* * * * *
That night Chios quietly stole along under the stars until the old road
to Smyrna intersected his path; but he did not swerve from his course
until he reached the Cayster. Following its sinuous banks, disturbing
the wild-fowl as he went, and treading on a carpeting of sweet-scented
night-flowers, he soon reached the bend of the river which laved the
grove.
There he rested on a block of white marble, brought to be set up as a
memorial.
He gazed over the dark and silent stream. He arose, and paced to and
fro. Not a sound was heard, save his own footfall and the nightingale's
song.
He did not wait long ere he saw the form of a woman moving towards him.
Stealthily she came.
His heart danced with joy, for well he knew who it was.
'I am here,' cried Saronia.
'Noble girl!' replied Chios, as he kissed her.
'Art thou not fearful of this meeting?' said she.
'No,' replied the Greek. 'I have been told that love which would not
dare death is not worthy the name of love.'
'It is death to both if discovered.'
'So much the better,' said he. 'We should then be for ever free.'
'Dost thou guess my mission to thee, Chios?'
'Partly.'
'Well, let me tell thee. I would hear more of the story--more of whom I
am.'
'Darling girl, would I could tell thee! I know no more. I have told thee
all.'
'Yet, I know more.'
'How?'
'By the power of divination.'
'And what hast thou gained by thy magic?'
'This: she whom thou spoke of is no other than my own mother. Further,
she died unknown, uncared for, calling on the name of the Jewish
Christ.'
Chios gasped for breath, and started back as if stung by a serpent,
exclaiming, with bated breath:
'The Jewish Christ! Can it be true?'
'As true as the morning sun shall rise. I know it true, and judge it
passing strange. How such a faith grew in her I know not. The mysteries
of this creed I cannot understand, although it grows apace in Ephesus;
but this I know: when I called forth into the world of spirits no answer
came from her, whereby I am convinced she has gained entrance into a
kingdom where the least of its subjects is greater than the mightiest
of Diana's followers. I am the Arch-Priestess of yonder sacred Temple.
My mother is greater than I, for I could not reach her plane, but--I
_will_!'
'And how, Saronia?'
'I know not.'
'Wilt thou also turn Christian and follow the Nazarene?'
'No; I hate the thought. That faith is darker to me than the rolling
blackness of the Styx.'
'What if thou sawest light in the darkness, and found a narrow path
leading up to a plane of loveliness where, perchance, thy mother dwells?
Wouldst thou not walk in it?'
'Yea, that I would, and would lay down my life to commence the journey.
I am not a traitor to my goddess. I have followed her with all my
strength, believing her to be the source of my being, and to whom I may
return; but conditions are changing in me. My faith tried--it does not
totter. Mark well, I say it does not stagger--it trembles only! My soul
cries for more light--light--more light! And I cannot satisfy its
longings. I ask thee, dost thou know of this Christ?'
'I do. I have sat at the feet of one of His greatest teachers, and he
unfolded to me some of its mysteries.'
'Chios, I fear! Go on.'
'What shall I tell thee? I am not a teacher.'
'Art thou a believer?'
'I am, so far as I know; but its mysteries are great. I have scarcely
touched the fringe of this new faith.'
'Hast thou, then, cut thyself adrift from the worship of our sacred
goddess?'
'I have.'
'Oh, Chios, Chios, this is worse than all! Let me lean upon thee; I am
weary--I am weary and alone.'
'No, dearest, thou art not alone, for the Father is with thee.'
They sat down on the block of white marble. He laid her head upon his
shoulder, and the warm tears fell upon his hands; then he whispered:
'Dearest love, take courage. All will be well.'
'No, no, Chios. The strings of the lyre are broken. Saronia is alone.'
And, looking up, with her eyes melting with tenderness towards him, she
said:
'The slave became a priestess, and the priestess a broken reed. Thou in
spirit hast left me.'
'No, dearest, that is not so. We shall join hands when we fall, like
leaves in the autumn time.'
'That may not be so, my love, my Chios, my joy, my life, my soul!
Farewell! I am lost to thee, and thou to me, for ever--for ever!'
'No, no, Saronia; we will never part!'
'But we must, unless one resigns the faith; and, if we both believe our
own, which can be liar, traitor? Thou shalt keep thine own. To thee it
is truth, mine falsehood! I have no call to follow thine--I know not the
way. I have espoused myself to the faith of Diana; I adhere to it until
a greater than she broods over my spirit, and begets a new light for a
new creed; when such shall come to pass I will not fail to do my duty.
Until then I follow by the light I possess. This is my determination,
dearest Chios. This I will do, and no other.'
'Saronia, this is more than I can bear. My soul sinks into a depth of
woe unspeakable. Not that I fear, for, as light hath come to me, so also
shall it shine on thee. I have not the gift of a seer, but I know we are
one in spirit, must believe alike, worship the same God. As the light
first strikes the tops of the mountains and afterwards floods the vale,
so it broke first on me, and anon it shall burst on the soul of my
Saronia.'
'Chios, Chios, my spirit thirsteth! Give me this light if thou canst.
Give me truth.'
'And still thou lovest me, Saronia?'
'Love thee! Ah! a thousandfold more for fear our love may end with life.
I know thou art good. Go thy way; serve thy God. I go mine to the grove
yonder, to offer sacrifice to my goddess. Saronia must be true to her
trust; let Chios be the same.'
He took her in his arms and kissed her passionately. Holding her head
between his hands, he gazed lovingly into her eyes, saying:
'Our love can never die. It is begotten from above. I will come again to
thee, and teach thee of the new faith. I have with me a parchment,
closely written, given to me by the holy man I saved from death. May I
leave it with thee, Saronia? It may be of use. Thou dost not refuse it?
May the Christ of God bless thee! And now good-bye. This is our
meeting-place. It is unfrequented. Thou knowest how to signal me.'
Drawing her mantle around her tightly, he kissed her again and again,
and she vanished into the night.