PARTING
'Saronia,' said Lucius, 'thou art here. Come this way; thou art safe at
last. Rest calmly as to the future. Whilst brave sailors may defend
thee, no harm can come. I go on shore to fetch thy beloved Chios, and
procure what is needed for thee, and thou shalt have attendance from
that home wherein thou didst once reside. I am rejoiced to see thee.
Think not of the past, Saronia. The past is gone far behind, and thou
must think only of the joys of the future--all stored up for thee. I am
alone in this great wilderness, and thou shalt be unto me as a child,
and Chios shall be my son.'
'And Chios, thou wilt bring him, noble Lucius, kind as thou art
valiant?'
'Bring him, girl? Certainly! The ship would refuse her helm were the
best man in Ephesus left behind. Retire within, and make thyself pleased
with the apartments set aside for thee.'
Then did Lucius with a light heart move to the shore, and hastened to
the studio that he might greet Chios, and bring him with him to join
Saronia. He went quietly up the way between the lines of flowers, heard
the gentle breathings of the winds through the trees, and the song of
birds which knew not of sorrow fell upon his ear.
He knocked at the door, but no one came. 'Is he from home? I hope not.'
Then he gently opened the door, looked in, and an ominous silence fell
around. Presently he walked within, saying, 'I shall explore this little
place myself. It seems plain sailing, and needs not a pilot.' But,
horror-stricken, he fell back a pace or two on seeing the body of Chios
lying dead upon the floor, and beside him his mother, with her pale face
looking up towards the azure and gold-starred ceiling (for Saronia had
warned him of Endora's death).
For a moment Lucius was stricken as if a battle had gone against him.
Then, gaining courage, he advanced, and, touching the body gently, said:
'Chios, my boy, Chios, art thou really gone?'
But no voice came back to him, and he knew too well that the noble
spirit had fled. His first thought was of Saronia. What would she think
of him? What would she do?
Then he sped from that house of death to order burial of the mother and
son upon the flower-crowned hill of Pion, and went his way, bowed down
with grief.
* * * * *
When Lucius arrived on board, accompanied with maiden slaves carrying
raiment, precious jewels, flowers and fruits for Saronia, he found her
anxiously awaiting him, and she immediately asked for Chios.
'He cannot come to-night,' replied he. 'He makes preparations to leave,
and will not finish in time to join us. Thou must rest to-night, and
gain strength after all the exciting events which have transpired. Thou
hast here now trusty attendants who will minister to thy utmost wish.
Rest thee to-night, child, and may the gods or thy God give thee sweet
and pleasant dreams. Lucius will watch over thee, and the spirits of the
good shield thee. Good-night, Saronia, and may to-morrow's sun rise full
of joy for thee.'
Lucius knew full well that at early dawn the ship would sail. What could
he do to break this awful news to her? Kill her he feared it would. If
he remained another day he could not bring back the dead, and a
question arose in his mind that, if Chios did not come next morning,
Saronia at all hazards would refuse to proceed. He considered the
position, and, having his crew on board and all prepared, he determined
to cast adrift.
No, he could not do this. How could he face his daughter on the morrow
without Chios? Would it not look like piracy to take her away? Could she
believe otherwise than that it was all trickery? No; he must speak with
her that very night. He knew the power of Saronia's mind, and it was
best it should be done at once. He called one of the attendant slaves.
'Go, see if thy lady sleeps, and, if not, ask her permission for Lucius
to speak with her.'
The girl came back and told him that Saronia sent word to Lucius saying
she was too sorrowful to sleep, and would be happy to receive him.
Then, for the first time in his life, the courage of the hardy sailor
forsook him, and he moved forward tremblingly.
'Good friend,' said she, 'in the hour of distress thou wouldst speak
with Saronia?'
'Yes, but my heart is too full.'
'Say on. I may even comfort thee, although I myself am sad; but, stay,
here is a little packet Chios gave me for thee. It is sealed. Perhaps it
may be of great interest. Methinks it is, or Chios would not have sent
it.'
He took it from her, broke open the seals, and read it, saying:
'It is all true. Thank the gods, she is safe at last, and where
recompense may be made. Saronia, thou knowest of thy mother?'
'Yes.'
'And thou also knowest of thy father? He forsook her and thee.'
'Yes.'
'Thou didst not know him?'
'No, good sire.'
'Couldst thou forgive him, Saronia? Couldst thou forgive him, if he
sought forgiveness?'
'Yea, for "mercy endureth for ever."'
'Then let Lucius kiss his child!'
'Art thou my father?'
'I am. Read this parchment which thou hast brought from the hands of
Chios. It tells its own story.'
'Ah! now I see it all, and my life is no longer a mystery. Driven, as I
have been, through a perilous maze of fate, I am on the verge of a
brighter existence. It is well, father, we have met before I part from
thee, perhaps for ever.'
'What dost thou mean, child?'
'I scarcely know, but a great vision stretches out into the future, a
great life spreads out before me, but it is not an earth-life. This
spirit of mine seems to be preparing to quit this form of clay; as a
voyager standing on the strand ready to start on a long voyage, so
stands my spirit.'
'Oh, Saronia, do not speak thus! Nothing ails thee. Thou art young,
lovely, and in the bloom of life, and must not give way to such
forebodings. Rest now with thine aged father awhile; bear him company
until he sails into the great distance, casts anchor, furls sails, in a
peaceful haven.'
'Would that I could! But our time here is limited to the beating of one
heart's throb; and, as I have already said, my spirit, which is myself,
stands ready to put out the lamp and leave. Where is Chios, father? Why
is he not here? Where is my noble love? He is away, but yet I feel his
presence near me. What does this mean, father? My sight grows dim, my
breath fails me; too well I know the spirit's presence. Chios is dead,
is he not? He is! He calls from beyond his body! Where does his body
lie? Tell me! Tell me quickly, father! Thou wilt act the better part by
letting me know all. Where is he? Speak, by the love thou bearest for
thy only child! Where is Chios?'
'Oh, Saronia, why wouldst thou know? Thou wilt see him soon.'
'Yes; I shall see him soon;' and she fell back motionless.
Lucius raised her up and called assistance. After awhile she rallied,
and looked up into the face of her father, saying:
'Kiss me, dearest one. It is well that Chios should have left first. We
cannot remain apart; the great circle of our affinity will soon be
completed. Watch over Saronia. It will soon end.'
* * * * *
The mighty fleet prepared to leave the port of Ephesus. One by one they
left the harbour, entered the canal which led to the sea, and, as they
cleared the harbour mouth, ranged into two squadrons, one on either side
of the entrance; and when the last came out, which bore the flag of
Lucius, they formed into two great lines, with the flagship in the rear.
A light breeze sprang up from the north-east, the braces were hauled in,
and the ships danced merrily over the deep blue waters of the AEgean Sea
windward of Samos, and Scios and Mount Coressus on the starboard hand.
The wind was so favourable that the oars were little needed, save that
some on the leeside kept stroke that the ships might make good
weathering. Behind them rose the hills and mountains which guarded
Ephesus, and the villas on their sides shone like spots of crystal; but
the sun struck fiercely on the great white Temple of Diana, until it
looked like molten silver. Away they sailed towards the Icarian Sea.
On a couch inlaid with gold reclined Saronia, and the rich curtains of
her cabin were thrown back to allow the sweet, fresh salt air,
impregnated with the perfume of roses and myrtle-blossoms, to fan her
pale, sad cheeks. The soft eyes were filled with a far-away lustre, as
if she saw visions of the future which none else could see. She was
looking out upon the setting sun, which cast its golden light along the
waves. Suddenly she seemed to grow cheerful, and said:
'Father, art thou here? Let me take thine hand. Where is Chios? He is
not here. Is he dead? Thou art silent. He is gone, and I cannot stay.
Come nearer to me, father. My bridal day is at hand. Bury me in the sea.
Let no eye rest upon my grave. Let the ocean be my sepulchre, and the
winds sing my requiem. This is _happiness; this is joy_! The eternal
gates are uplifting. Farewell!'
And the spirit of Saronia had fled.
THE END
_Elliot Stock, 62, Paternoster Row. London_
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| TRANSCRIBERS' NOTES |
| |
| General: corrections to punctuation have been made without |
| individual notes |
| General: Spelling of Megalobyzi, Megabyzus not standardised as the |
| author has consistently spelt them that way. |
| Page vi: Acratas standardised to Acratus |
| Page 6: wil corrected to will |
| Page 10: cithra as in original |
| Page 24: opithodomus corrected to opisthodomus |
| Page 132: spurious "the" removed after "terrible wails, at" |
| Page 208: hose corrected to those |
| Page 238: candelabrii as in original |
| Pages 83, 213, 228: Heard'st, heardst not standardised as it is |
| unclear whether the author intended them to be different |
| Pages 95, 174: May'st, mayst not standardised as it is unclear |
| whether the author intended them to be different |
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