or, like a vanquished but skilful general, she began to think of
covering her retreat, saying:

"I was outwitted; but, what I vowed in a moment of weakness. I have now
sworn again. I am only sorry for your poor father, who needed a
trustworthy son, and the good Leonax--"

At this moment, as if he had heard his name and obediently appeared at
her call, the son of Alciphron, of Messina, appeared with Phaon's father,
Protarch, from the shadow of the myrtle-grove.

He was a gay, handsome youth, richly and carefully dressed. After many a
pressure of the hand and cordial words of welcome, Phaon took the young
girl's hand and led her to the new-comers, saying:

"Give me Xanthe for a wife, my father. We have grown up together like the
ivy and wild vine on the wall, and cannot part."

"No certainly not," added Xanthe, blushing and nestling closely to her
lover's side, as she gazed beseechingly first at her uncle, and then at
the young visitor from Messina.

"Children, children!" cried Protarch, "you spoil my best plans. I had
destined Agariste, the rich Mentor's only child, for you, foolish boy,
and already had come to terms with the old miser. But who can say I will,
or this and that shall happen to-morrow? You are very sweet and charming
my girl, and I don't say that I shouldn't be glad, but--mighty Zeus! what
will my brother Alciphron say--and you, Leonax?"

"I?" asked the young man, smiling. "I came here like a dutiful son, but I
confess I rejoice over what has happened, for now my parents will hardly
say 'No' a second time, when I beg them to give me Codrus's daughter,
Ismene, for my wife."

"And there stands a maiden who seems to like to hear such uncivil words
better than Helen loved Paris's flattering speeches!" exclaimed Phaon's
father, first kissing his future daughter's cheek and then his son's
forehead.

"But now let us go to father," pleaded Xanthe.

"Only one moment," replied Protarch, "to look after the boxes the people
are bringing.--Take care of the large chest with the Phoenician dishes
and matron's robes, my lads."

During the first moments of the welcome, Semestre had approached her
darling's son, told him who she was, received his father's messages of
remembrance, kissed his hand, and stroked his arm.

His declaration that he wished another maiden than Xanthe for his wife
soothed her not a little, and when she now heard of matrons' dresses, and
not merely one robe, her eyes sparkled joyously, a