he boar dealt long ago
with his white tusk. I found it as I washed him, and I would have told you
then; but he laid his hand upon my mouth, and in his watchful wisdom would
not let me speak. But follow me. I stake my very life; if I deceive you,
slay me by the vilest death."

Then heedful Penelope answered her, "Dear nurse, 'tis hard for you to
trace the counsels of the everlasting Gods, however wise you are.
Nevertheless, let us go down to meet my son, and see the suitors who are
dead, and him who slew them."

So saying, she went from her chamber to the hall, and much her heart
debated whether aloof to question her dear husband, or to draw near and
kiss his face and take his hand. But when she entered, crossing the stone
threshold, she sat down opposite Ulysses, in the firelight, beside the
farther wall. He sat by a tall pillar, looking down, waiting to hear if
his stately wife would speak when she should look his way. But she sat
silent long; amazement filled her heart. Now she would gaze with a long
look upon his face, and now she would not know him for the mean clothes
that he wore. But Telemachus rebuked her, and spoke to her and said,--

"Mother, hard mother, of ungentle heart, why do you hold aloof so from my
father, and do not sit beside him, plying him with words and questions?
There is no other woman of such stubborn spirit to stand off from the
husband who, after many grievous toils, comes in the twentieth year home
to his native land. Your heart is always harder than a stone!"

Then said to him heedful Penelope, "My child, my soul within is dazed with
wonder. I cannot speak to him, nor ask a question, nor look him in the
face. But if this indeed is Ulysses, come at last, we certainly shall know
each other better than others know; for we have signs which we two
understand,--signs hidden from the rest."

As she, long tried, spoke thus, royal Ulysses smiled, and said to
Telemachus forthwith in winged words, "Telemachus, leave your mother in
the hall to try my truth. She soon will know me better. Now, because I am
foul and dressed in sorry clothes, she holds me in dishonor, and says I am
not he. But you and I have yet to plan how all may turn out well. For
whoso kills one man among a tribe, though the man leaves few champions
behind, becomes an exile, quitting kin and country. We have destroyed the
pillars of the state, the very noblest youths of Ithaca. Form, then, a
plan, I pray."

Then answered him disc