agitated his hands and feet.
Then happened what all these millenniums had never witnessed. No
thunderbolt had blazed forth from that dome of cloudless blue; no marksman
had approached the inaccessible spot; yet, without vestige of hurt, the
eagle dropped lifeless, falling sheer down into the unfathomable abyss
below. At the same moment the bonds of the captive snapped asunder, and,
projected by an impetus which kept him clear of the perpendicular
precipice, he alighted at an infinite depth on a sun-flecked greensward
amid young ash and oak, where he long lay deprived of sense and motion.

The sun fell, dew gathered on the grass, moonshine glimpsed through the
leaves, stars peeped timidly at the prostrate figure, which remained
prostrate and unconscious still. But as sunlight was born anew in the East
a thrill passed over the slumberer, and he became conscious, first of an
indescribably delicious feeling of restful ease, then of a gnawing pang,
acute as the beak of the eagle for which he at first mistook it. But his
wrists, though still encumbered with bonds and trailing fetters, were
otherwise at liberty, and eagle there was none. Marvelling at his inward
and invisible foe, he struggled to his feet, and found himself contending
with a faintness and dizziness heretofore utterly unknown to him. He dimly
felt himself in the midst of things grown wonderful by estrangement and
distance. No grass, no flower, no leaf had met his eye for thousands of
years, nothing but the impenetrable azure, the transient cloud, sun, moon,
and star, the lightning flash, the glittering peaks of ice, and the
solitary eagle. There seemed more wonder in a blade of grass than in all
these things, but all was blotted in a dizzy swoon, and it needed his
utmost effort to understand that a light sound hard by, rapidly growing
more distinct, was indeed a footfall. With a violent effort he steadied
himself by grasping a tree, and had hardly accomplished so much when a tall
dark maiden, straight as an arrow, slim as an antelope, wildly beautiful
as a Dryad, but liker a Maenad with her aspect of mingled disdain and
dismay, and step hasty as of one pursuing or pursued, suddenly checked her
speed on perceiving him.

"Who art thou?" he exclaimed.

"Gods! Thou speakest Greek!"

"What else should I speak?"

"What else? From whom save thee, since I closed my father's eyes, have I
heard the tongue of Homer and Plato?"

"Who is Homer? Who is Plato?"

Th