Charmain went towards her own apartments. How often she had had a
similar experience! In the midst of the warmest admiration for this rare
woman's depth of feeling, masculine strength of intellect, tireless
industry, watchful care for her native land, steadfast loyalty, and
maternal devotion, she had been sobered in the most pitiable way.
She had been forced to see Cleopatra, for the sake of realizing a
childish dream, and impressing her lover, squander vast sums, which
diminished the prosperity of her subjects; place great and important
matters below the vain, punctilious care of her own person; forget, in
petty jealousy, the justice and kindness which were marked traits in her
character; and, though the most kindly and womanly of sovereigns, suffer
herself to be urged by angry excitement to inflict outrage on a subject
whose acts had awakened her displeasure. The lofty ambition which had
inspired her noblest and most praiseworthy deeds had more than once been
the source of acts which she herself regretted. When a child, she could
not endure to be surpassed in difficult tasks, and still deemed it a
necessity to be first and peerless. Hence the unfortunate circumstance
that Antony had given Barine the counterpart of an armlet which she
herself wore as a gift from her lover, was perhaps the principal cause
of her bitter resentment against the hapless woman.
Charmian had seen Cleopatra forgive freely and generously many a wrong,
nay, many an affront, inflicted upon her; but to see herself placed by
her husband on the same plane as a Barine, even in the most trivial
matter, might easily seem to her an unbearable insult; and the mishap
which had befallen Cæsarion, in consequence of his foolish passion for
the young beauty, gave her a right to punish her rival.
Deeply anxious concerning the fate of the woman in her care--greatly
agitated, moreover, and exhausted physically and mentally--Charmian
sought her own apartments.
Here she hoped to find solace in Barine's cheerful and equable nature;
here the helpful hands of her dark-skinned maid and confidante awaited
her.
The sun was low in the western horizon when she entered the anteroom.
The members of the body-guard who were on duty told her that nothing
unusual had occurred, and with a sigh of relief she passed into the
sitting-room.
But the Ethiopian, who usually came to meet her with words of welcome,
took her veil and wraps, and removed her shoes, was absent. Today no one
greeted her. Not until she entered the second room, which she had
assigned to her guest, did she find Barine, who was weeping bitterly.
During Charmian's absence the latter had received a letter from Alexas,
in which he informed her that he was ordered by the Queen to subject her
to an examination the next morning. Her cause looked dark but, if she
did not render his duty harder by the harshness which had formerly
caused him much pain, he would do his utmost to protect her from
imprisonment, forced labour in the mines, or even worse misfortunes. The
imprudent game which she had played with King Cæsarion had
unfortunately roused the people against her. The depth of their
indignation was shown by the fury with which they had assailed the house
of her grandfather, Didymus. Nothing could save Dion, who had
audaciously attacked the illustrious son of their beloved Queen, from
the rage of the populace. He, Alexas, knew that in this Dion she would
lose a friend and protector, but he would be disposed to take his place
if her conduct did not render it impossible for him to unite mercy with
justice.
This shameful letter, which promised Barine clemency in return for her
favour without unmasking him in his character of judge, explained to
Charmian the agitation in which she found her friend's daughter.
It was doubtless a little relief to Barine to express her loathing and
abhorrence of Alexas as eagerly as her gentle nature would permit, but
fear, grief, and indignation continued to struggle for the mastery in
her oppressed soul.
It would have been expected that the keen-witted woman would have
eagerly inquired what Charmian had accomplished with the Queen and
Archibius, and what new events had happened to affect Cleopatra, the
state, and the city; but she questioned her with far deeper interest
concerning the welfare of her lover, desiring information in regard to
many things of which her friend could give no tidings. In her brief
visit to Dion's couch she had not learned how he bore his own
misfortunes and Barine's, what view he took of the future, or what he
expected from the woman he loved.
Charmian's ignorance and silence in regard to these very matters
increased the anxiety of the endangered woman, who saw not only her own
life, but those dearest to her, seriously threatened. So she entreated
her hostess to relieve her from the uncertainty which was harder to
endure than the most terrible reality; but the latter either could not
or would not give her any further details of Cleopatra's intentions, or
the fate and present abode of her grandparents and Helena. This
increased her anxiety, for if Alexas's information was correct, her
family must be homeless. When Charmian at last admitted that she had
seen Dion only a few minutes, the tortured Barine's power of quiet
endurance gave way.
She, whose nature was so hopeful that, when the glow of the sunset
faded, she already anticipated with delight the rosy dawn of the next
day, now beheld in Cleopatra's hand the reed which was to sign the
death-sentence of Dion and herself. Her mental vision conjured up her
relatives wounded by the falling house or bleeding under the stones
hurled by the raging populace. She heard Alexas command the executioner
to subject her to the rack, and fancied that Anukis had not returned
because she had failed to find Dion. The Queen's soldiers had probably
carried him to prison, loaded with chains, if Philostratus had not
already instigated the mob to drag him through the streets.
With feverish impetuosity, which alarmed Charmian the more because it
was so unlike her old friend's daughter, Barine described all the
spectres with which her imagination--agitated by terror, longing, love,
and loathing--terrified her; but the former exerted all the power of
eloquence she possessed, by turns reproving her and loading her with
caresses, in order to soothe her and rouse her from her despair. But
nothing availed. At last she succeeded in persuading the unhappy woman
to go with her to the window, which afforded a most beautiful view.
Westward, beyond the Heptastadium, the sun was sinking below the forests
of masts in the harbour of the Eunostus; and Charmian, who had learned
from her intercourse with the royal children how to soothe a troubled
young heart, to divert Barine's thoughts, directed her attention to the
crimson glow in the western sky, and told her how her father, the
artist, had showed her the superb brilliancy which colours gained at
this hour of the day, even when the west was less radiant than now. But
Barine, who usually could never gaze her fill at such a spectacle, did
not thank her, for this sunset reminded her of another which she had
lately watched at Dion's side, and she again broke into convulsive sobs.
Charmian, not knowing what to do, passed her arm around her. Just at
that moment the door was hurriedly thrown open, and Anukis, the Nubian,
entered.
Her mistress knew that something unusual must have happened to detain
her so long from her post at Barine's side, and her appearance showed
that she had been attending to important matters which had severely
taxed her strength. Her shining dark skin looked ashen grey, her high
forehead, surrounded by tangled woolly locks, was dripping with
perspiration, and her thick lips were pale. Although she must have
undergone great fatigue, she did not seem in need of rest; for, after
greeting the ladies, apologizing for her long absence, and telling
Barine that this time Dion had seemed to her half on the way to
recovery, a rapid side glance at her mistress conveyed an entreaty that
she would follow her into the next room.
But the language of the Nubian's eyes had not escaped the suspicious
watchfulness of the anxious Barine and, overwhelmed with fresh terror,
she begged that she might hear all.
Charmian ordered her maid to speak openly; but Anukis, ere she began,
assured them that she had received the news she brought from a most
trustworthy source--only it would make a heavy demand upon the
resolution and courage of Barine, whom she had hoped to find in a very
different mood. There was no time to lose. She was expected at the
appointed place an hour after sunset.
Here Charmian interrupted the maid with the exclamation "Impossible!"
and reminded her of the guards which Alexas, aided by Iras, who was
thoroughly familiar with the palace, had stationed the day before in the
anteroom, at all the doors--nay, even beneath the windows.
The Nubian replied that everything had been considered; but, to gain
time, she must beg Barine to let her colour her skin and curl her hair
while she was talking.
The surprise visible in the young beauty's face caused her to exclaim:
"Only act with entire confidence. You shall learn everything directly.
There is so much to tell! On the way here I had planned how to relate
the whole story in regular order, but it can't be done now. No, no!
Whoever wants to save a flock of sheep from a burning shed must lead out
the bell-wether first--the main thing, I mean--so I will begin with
that, though it really comes last. The explanation of how all this----"
Here, like a cry of joy, Barine's exclamation interrupted her:
"I am to fly, and Dion knows it and will follow me! I see it in your
face."
In fact, every feature of the dusky maid-servant's ugly face betrayed
that pleasant thoughts were agitating her mind. Her black eyes flashed
with fearless daring, and a smile beautified her big mouth and thick
lips as she replied:
"A loving heart like yours understands the art of prophecy better than
the chief priest of the great Serapis. Yes, my young mistress, he of
whom you speak must disappear from this wicked city where so much evil
threatens you both. He will certainly escape and, if the immortals aid
us and we are wise and brave, you also. Whence the help comes can be
told later. Now, the first thing is to transform you--don't be
reluctant--into the ugliest woman in the world--black Anukis. You must
escape from the palace in this disguise.--Now you know the whole plan,
and while I get what is necessary from my chest of clothes, I beg you,
mistress, to consider how we are to obtain the black stains for that
ivory skin and golden hair."
With these words she left the room, but Barine flung herself into her
friend's arms, exclaiming, amid tears and laughter: "Though I should be
forced to remain forever as black and crooked as faithful Aisopion, if
he did not withdraw his love, though I were obliged to go through fire
and water--I would---- O Charmian! what changes so quickly as joy and
sorrow? I would fain show some kindness to every one in the world, even
to your Queen, who has brought all these troubles upon me."
The new-born hope had transformed the despairing woman into a happy one,
and Charmian perceived it with grateful joy, secretly wishing that
Cleopatra had listened to her appeal.
While examining the hair-dyes used by the Queen she saw, lurking in the
background of what was still unexplained, and therefore confused her
mind, fresh and serious perils. Barine, on the contrary, gazed across
them to the anticipated meeting with her lover, and was full of the
gayest expectation until the maid-servant's return.
The work of disfigurement began without delay. Anukis moved her lips as
busily as her hands, and described in regular order all that had
befallen her during the eventful day.
Barine listened with rising excitement, and her joy increased as she
beheld the path which had been smoothed for her by the care and wisdom
of her friends. Charmian, on the contrary, became graver and more quiet
the more distinctly she perceived the danger her favourite must
encounter. Yet she could not help admitting that it would be a sin
against Barine's safety, perhaps her very life, to withhold her from
this well-considered plan of escape.
That it must be tried was certain; but as the moment which was to
endanger the woman she loved drew nearer, and she could not help saying
to herself that she was aiding an enterprise in opposition to the
express command of the Queen and helping to execute a plan which
threatened to rouse the indignation, perhaps the fury, of Cleopatra, a
feeling of sorrow overpowered her. She feared nothing for herself. Not
for a single instant did she think of the unpleasant consequences which
Barine's escape might draw upon her. The burden on her soul was due only
to the consciousness of having, for the first time, opposed the will of
the sovereign, to fulfil whose desires and to promote whose aims had
been the beloved duty of her life. Doubtless the thought crossed her
mind that, by aiding Barine's escape, she was guarding Cleopatra from
future repentance; probably she felt sure that it was her duty to help
rescue this beautiful young life, whose bloom had been so cruelly
assailed by tempest and hoar-frost, and which now had a prospect of the
purest happiness; yet, though in itself commendable, the deed brought
her into sharp conflict with the loftiest aims and aspirations of her
life. And how much nearer than the other was the woman--she shrank from
the word--whom she was about to betray, how much greater was Cleopatra's
claim to her love and gratitude! Could she have any other emotion than
thankfulness if the plan of escape succeeded? Yet she was reluctant to
perform the task of making Barine's beautiful, symmetrical figure
resemble the hunch-backed Nubian's, or to dip her fingers into the
pomade intended for Cleopatra; and it grieved her to mar the beauty of
Barine's luxuriant tresses by cutting off part of her thick fair braids.
True, these things could not be avoided, if the flight was to succeed,
and the further Anukis advanced in her story, the fewer became her
mistress's objections to the plan.
The conversation between Iras and Alexas, which had been overheard by
the maid, already made it appear necessary to withdraw Barine and her
lover from the power of such foes. The faithful man whom Anukis had
found with Dion, whose name she did not mention and of whose home she
said only that no safer hiding-place could be found, even by the mole
which burrowed in the earth, really seemed to have been sent with
Gorgias to Dion's couch by Fate itself. The control of the subterranean
chambers in the Temple of Isis which had been bestowed on the architect,
also appeared like a miracle.
Upon a small tablet, which the wise Aisopion had intentionally delayed
handing to her mistress until now, were the lines:
"Archibius greets his sister Charmian. If I know your heart, it will be
as hard for you as for me to share this plot, yet it must be done for
the sake of her father, to save the life and happiness of his child. So
it must fall to your lot to bring Barine to the Temple of Isis at the
Corner of the Muses. She will find her lover there and, if possible, be
wedded to him. As the sanctuary is so near, you need leave the palace
only a short time. Do not tell Barine what we have planned. The
disappointment would be too great if it should prove impracticable."
This letter and the arrangement it proposed transformed the serious
scruples which shadowed Charmian's good-will into a joyous, nay,
enthusiastic desire to render assistance. Barine's marriage to the man
who possessed her heart was close at hand, and she was the daughter of
Leonax, who had once been dear to her. Fear and doubt vanished as if
scattered to the four winds, and when Aisopion's work of transformation
was completed and Barine stood before her as the high-shouldered,
dark-visaged, wrinkled maid, she could not help admitting that it would
be easy to escape from the palace in that disguise.
She now told Barine that she intended to accompany her herself; and
though the former's stained face forced her to refrain from kissing her
friend, she plainly expressed to her and the faithful freedwoman the
overflowing gratitude which filled her heart.
Anukis was left alone. After carefully removing all the traces of her
occupation, as habit dictated, she raised her arms in prayer, beseeching
the gods of her native land to protect the beautiful woman to whom she
had loaned her own misshapen form, which had now been of genuine
service, and who had gone forth to meet so many dangers, but also a
happiness whose very hope had been denied to her.
Charmian had told her maid that if the Queen should inquire for her
before Iras returned from the Choma to say that she had been obliged to
leave the palace, and to supply her place. During their absence, when
Charmian had been attacked by sickness, Cleopatra had often entrusted
the care of her toilet to Aisopion, and had praised her skill.
The Queen's confidential attendant was followed as usual when she went
out by a dark-skinned maid. Lanterns and lamps had already been lighted
in the corridors of the spacious palace, and the court-yards were ablaze
with torches and pitch-pans; but, brilliantly as they burned in many
places, and numerous as were the guards, officers, eunuchs, clerks,
soldiers, cooks, attendants, slaves, door-keepers, and messengers whom
they passed, not one gave them more than a careless glance.
So they reached the last court-yard, and then came a moment when the
hearts of both women seemed to stop beating--for the man whom they had
most cause to dread, Alexas the Syrian, approached.
And he did not pass the fugitives, but stopped Charmian, and
courteously, even obsequiously, informed her that he wished to get rid
of the troublesome affair of her favourite, which had been assigned to
him against his will, and therefore had determined to bring Barine to
trial early the following morning.
The Syrian's body-servant attended his master, and while the former was
talking with Charmian the latter turned to the supposed Nubian, tapped
her lightly on the shoulder, and whispered: "Come this evening, as you
did yesterday. You haven't finished the story of Prince Setnau."
The fugitive felt as if she had grown dumb and could never more regain
the power of speech. Yet she managed to nod, and directly after the
favourite bowed a farewell to Charmian. The Ligurian was obliged to
follow his master, while Charmian and Barine passed through the gateway
between the last pylons into the open air.
Here the sea-breeze seemed to waft her a joyous greeting from the realm
of liberty and happiness, and the timid woman, amid all the perils which
surrounded her, regained sufficient presence of mind to tell her friend
what Alexas's slave had whispered--that Aisopion might remind him of it
the same evening, and thus strengthen his belief that the Nubian had
accompanied the Queen's confidante.
The way to the Temple of Isis was short. The stars showed that they
would reach their destination in time; but a second delay unexpectedly
occurred. From the steps leading to the cella of the sanctuary a
procession, whose length seemed endless, came towards them. At the head
of the train marched eight pastophori, bearing the image of Isis. Then
came the basket-bearers of the goddess with several other priestesses,
followed by the reader with an open book-roll. Behind him appeared the
quaternary number of prophets, whose head, the chief priest, moved with
stately dignity beneath a canopy. The rest of the priestly train bore in
their hands manuscripts, sacred vessels, standards, and wreaths. The
priestesses--some of whom, with garlands on their flowing hair, were
already shaking the sistrum of Isis--mingled with the line of priests,
their high voices blending with the deep notes of the men. Neokori, or
temple servants, and a large number of worshippers of Isis, closed the
procession, all wearing wreaths and carrying flowers. Torch and lantern
bearers lighted the way, and the perfume of the incense rising from the
little pan of charcoal in the hand of a bronze arm, which the pastophori
waved to and fro, surrounded and floated after the procession.
The two women waiting for the train to pass saw it turn towards Lochias,
and the conversation of the bystanders informed them that its object was
to convey to "the new Isis," the Queen, the greeting of the goddess, and
assure the sovereign of the divinity's remembrance of her in the hour of
peril.
Cleopatra could not help accepting this friendly homage, and it was
incumbent upon her to receive it wearing on her head the crown of Upper
and Lower Egypt, and robed in all the ecclesiastical vestments which
only her two most trusted attendants knew how to put on with the
attention to details that custom required. This had never been entrusted
to maids of inferior position like the Nubian; so Cleopatra would miss
Charmian.
The thought filled her with fresh uneasiness and, when the steps were at
last free, she asked herself anxiously how all this would end.
It seemed as if the fugitive and her companion had exposed themselves to
this great peril in vain; for some of the temple servants were forcing
back those who wished to enter the sanctuary, shouting that it would be
closed until the return of the procession. Barine gazed timidly into
Charmian's face; but, ere she could express her opinion, the tall figure
of a man appeared on the temple steps. It was Archibius, who with grave
composure bade them follow him, and silently led them around the
sanctuary to a side door, through which, a short time before, a litter
had passed, accompanied by several attendants.
Ascending a flight of steps within the long building, they reached the
dimly lighted cella.
As in the Temple of Osiris at Abydos seven corridors, here three led to
the same number of apartments, the holy place of the sanctuary. The
central one was dedicated to Isis, that on the left to her husband
Osiris, and that on the right to Horus, the son of the great goddess.
Before it, scarcely visible in the dim light, stood the altars, loaded
with sacrifices by Archibius.
Beside that of Horus was the litter which had been borne into the temple
before the arrival of the women. From it, supported by two friends,
descended a slender young man.
A hollow sound echoed through the pillared hall. The iron door at the
main entrance of the temple had been closed. The shrill rattle that
followed proceeded from the metal bolts which an old servant of the
sanctuary had shot into the sockets.
Barine started, but neither inquired the cause of the noise nor
perceived the wealth of objects here presented to the senses; for the
man who, leaning on another's arm, approached the altar, was Dion, the
lover who had perilled his life for her sake. Her eyes rested intently
on his figure, her whole heart yearned towards him and, unable to
control herself,--she called his name aloud.
Charmian gazed anxiously around the group, but soon uttered a sigh of
relief; for the tall man whose arm supported Dion was Gorgias, the
worthy architect, his best friend, and the other, still taller and
stronger, her own brother Archibius. Yonder figure, emerging from the
disguise of wraps, was Berenike, Barine's mother. All trustworthy
confidants! The only person whom she did not know was the handsome young
man standing at her brother's side.
Barine, whose arm she still held, had struggled to escape to rush to her
mother and lover; but Archibius had approached, and in a whisper warned
her to be patient and to refrain from any greeting or question,
"supposing," he added, "that you are willing to be married at this altar
to Dion, the son of Eumenes."
Charmian felt Barine's arm tremble in hers at this suggestion, but the
young beauty obeyed her friend's directions. She did not know what had
befallen her, or whether, in the excess of happiness which overwhelmed
her, to shout aloud in her exultant joy, or melt into silent tears of
gratitude and emotion.
No one spoke. Archibius took a roll of manuscript from Dion's hand,
presented himself before the assembled company as the bride's kyrios, or
guardian, and asked Barine whether she so recognized him. Then he
returned to Dion the marriage contract, whose contents he knew and
approved, and informed those present that, in the marriage about to be
solemnized, they must consider him the paranymphos, or best man, and
Berenike as the bridesmaid, and they instantly lighted a torch at the
fires burning on one of the altars. Archibius, as kyrios, joined the
lovers' hands in the Egyptian--Barine's mother, as bridesmaid, in the
Greek--manner, and Dion gave his bride a plain iron ring. It was the
same one which his father had bestowed at his own wedding, and he
whispered: "My mother valued it; now it is your turn to honour the
ancient treasure."
After stating that the necessary sacrifices had been offered to Isis and
Serapis, Zeus, Hera, and Artemis, and that the marriage between Dion,
son of Eumenes, and Barine, daughter of Leonax, was concluded, Archibius
shook hands with both.
Haste seemed necessary, for he permitted Berenike and his sister only
time for a brief embrace, and Gorgias to clasp her hand and Dion's. Then
he beckoned, and the newly made bride's mother followed him in tears,
Charmian bewildered and almost stupefied. She did not fully realize the
meaning of the event she had just witnessed until an old neokori had
guided her and the others into the open air.
Barine felt as if every moment might rouse her from a blissful dream,
and yet she gladly told herself that she was awake, for the man walking
before her, leaning on the arm of a friend, was Dion. True, she saw,
even in the faint light of the dim temple corridor, that he was
suffering. Walking appeared to be so difficult that she rejoiced when,
yielding to Gorgias's entreaties, he entered the litter.
But where were the bearers?
She was soon to learn; for, even while she looked for them, the
architect and the youth, in whom she had long since recognized Philotas,
her grandfather's assistant, seized the poles.
"Follow us," said Gorgias, under his breath, and she obeyed, keeping
close behind the litter, which was borne first down a broad and then a
narrow staircase, and finally along a passage. Here a door stopped the
fugitives; but the architect opened it and helped his friend out of the
litter, which before proceeding farther he placed in a room filled with
various articles discovered during his investigation of the subterranean
temple chambers.
Hitherto not a word had been spoken. Now Gorgias called to Barine: "This
passage is low--you must stoop. Cover your head, and don't be afraid if
you meet bats. They have long been undisturbed. We might have taken you
from the temple to the sea, and waited there, but it would probably have
attracted attention and been dangerous. Courage, young wife of Dion! The
corridor is long, and walking through it is difficult; but compared with
the road to the mines, it is as smooth and easy as the Street of the
King. If you think of your destination, the bats will seem like the
swallows which announce the approach of spring."
Barine nodded gratefully to him; but she kissed the hand of Dion, who
was moving forward painfully, leaning on the arm of his friend. The
light of the torch carried by Gorgias's faithful foreman, who led the
way, had fallen on her blackened arm, and when the little party advanced
she kept behind the others. She thought it might be unpleasant for her
lover to see her thus disfigured, and spared him, though she would
gladly have remained nearer. As soon as the passage grew lower, the
wounded man's friends took him in their arms, and their task was a hard
one, for they were not only obliged to move onward bending low under the
heavy burden, but also to beat off the bats which, frightened by the
foreman's torch, flew up in hosts.
Barine's hair was covered, it is true, but at any other time the hideous
creatures, which often brushed against her head and arms, would have
filled her with horror and loathing. Now she scarcely heeded them; her
eyes were fixed on the recumbent figure in the bearers' arms, the man to
whom she belonged, body and soul, and whose patient suffering pierced
her inmost heart. His head rested on the breast of Gorgias, who walked
directly in front of her; the architect's stooping posture concealed his
face, but his feet were visible and, whenever they twitched, she fancied
he was in pain. Then she longed to press forward to his side, wipe the
perspiration from his brow in the hot, low corridor, and whisper words
of love and encouragement.
This she was sometimes permitted to do when the friends put down their
heavy burden. True, they allowed themselves only brief intervals of
rest, but they were long enough to show her how the sufferer's strength
was failing. When they at last reached their destination, Philotas was
forced to exert all his strength to support the exhausted man, while
Gorgias cautiously opened the door. It led to a flight of sea-washed
steps close to the garden of Didymus, which as a child she had often
used with her brother to float a little boat upon the water.
The architect opened the door only a short distance; he was expected,
for Barine soon heard him whisper, and suddenly the door was flung wide.
A tall man raised Dion and bore him into the open air. While she was
still gazing after him, a second figure of equal size approached her
and, hastily begging her permission, lifted her in his arms like a
child, and as she inhaled the cool night air and felt the water through
which her bearer waded splash up and wet her feet, her eyes sought her
new-made husband--but in vain; the night was very dark, and the lights
on the shore did not reach this spot so far below the walls of the quay.
Barine was frightened; but a few minutes after the outlines of a large
fishing boat loomed through the darkness, dimly illumined by the harbour
lights, and the next instant the giant who carried her placed her on the
deck, and a deep voice whispered: "All's well. I'll bring some wine at
once."
Then Barine saw her husband lying motionless on a couch which had been
prepared for him in the prow of the boat. Bending over him, she
perceived that he had fainted, and while rubbing his forehead with the
wine, raising his head on her lap, cheering him, and afterwards by the
light of a small lantern carefully renewing the bandage on his shoulder,
she did not notice that the vessel was moving through the water until
the boatman set the triangular sail.
She had not been told where the boat was bearing her, and she did not
ask. Any spot that she could share with Dion was welcome. The more
lonely the place, the more she could be to him. How her heart swelled
with gratitude and love! When she bent over him, kissed his forehead,
and felt how feverishly it burned, she thought, "I will nurse you back
to health," and raised her eyes and soul to her favourite god, to whom
she owed the gift of song, and who understood everything beautiful and
pure, to thank Phœbus Apollo and beseech him to pour his rays the next
morning on a convalescent man. While she was still engaged in prayer the
boat touched the shore. Again strong arms bore her and Dion to the land,
and when her foot touched the solid earth, her rescuer, the freedman
Pyrrhus, broke the silence, saying: "Welcome, wife of Dion, to our
island! True, you must be satisfied to take us as we are. But if you are
as content with us as we are glad to serve you and your lord, who is
ours also, the hour of leave-taking will be far distant."
Then, leading the way to the house, he showed her as her future
apartments two large whitewashed rooms, whose sole ornament was their
exquisite neatness.
On the threshold stood Pyrrhus's grey-haired wife, a young woman, and a
girl scarcely beyond childhood; but the older one modestly welcomed
Barine, and also begged her to accept their hospitality. Recovery was
rapid in the pure air of the Serpent Isle. She herself, and--she pointed
to the others--her oldest son's wife, and her own daughter, Dione, would
be ready to render her any service.