emed to have fallen on the company after this shameful
incident. The wooers had ceased their clamour, and sat talking in low
tones together; Odysseus and Telemachus sat silent in their places,
brooding gloomily on the outrage; Antinous alone remained unmoved,
being hardened, within and without, against all reproach.

When Penelope, who was sitting among her maidens in her chamber, heard
how the stranger had been ill-treated, she cried: "So may Apollo smite
thee, Antinous, thou godless man!" "Ay," said Eurycleia, "if prayers
could slay them, not one of these men would see to-morrow's dawn."

"Go, one of you," said Penelope, "and bring hither the swineherd. I
would fain speak with this stranger; who knows but he may have
somewhat to tell me of Odysseus, my lord?" Eumaeus was summoned, and
having heard the desire of Penelope, he answered: "My queen, there is
a rare pleasure awaiting thee. This man hath a tongue to charm thy
very soul. Three days and nights he abode with me, and all that time
he kept us spellbound by the tale of his adventures. It was as if we
were listening to the lay of some rare minstrel, a god-gifted man, who
sways all hearts as he will by the magic of his voice. And he brings
sure tidings of Odysseus too, if we may believe what he says."

"Call him hither," answered Penelope, "that he may speak to me face to
face. If his news be true, we may yet see the day when these men shall
pay a heavy price for their plunder of our house."

As she spoke, a loud sneeze was heard in the room below. "It was my
son," said Penelope, laughing, "I know it by the sound; and it is a
sign that my words will be fulfilled. Make haste now, and bring the
stranger to me."

Eumaeus went, and presently returned with a message from the supposed
beggar, to say that he feared fresh violence from the wooers, if he
left his place by the door and passed through them again. The truth
was that Odysseus feared recognition if he appeared before his wife in
broad daylight; so he affected to complain of the indifference of
Telemachus, who had allowed the savage deed of Antinous to go
unpunished, and begged permission to wait until the evening, when the
wooers would be gone home, and he could tell his story unmolested.

"He says well," answered Penelope, when she had heard the message.
"And he seems to be a man of sense. We will wait until evening, as he
desires."

The day was waning when Eumaeus returned to the hall, and the wooers
ha