d
his neck, and covered his face with kisses. "Be not angry with me, my
dear lord," she murmured tenderly, "because I held back so long, and
gave thee not loving welcome, as I do now. Thou art very wise, and
knowest the dangers which beset a lonely woman who is over hasty to
believe when a stranger comes and calls himself her husband. Many
there be that lie in wait to lay snares for a weak and loving heart.
But now I know thee for mine own dear love, and now is the winter of
my widowhood made glorious summer, since I have seen thy face again."

So they sat locked in each other's arms, that valiant, long-suffering
man, and his faithful wife, two brave and patient souls, parted so
long, and tried so hard, but now united once more in wedded love and
bliss. The hours went by unheeded, and day would have overtaken them
in that trance of delight, had not Athene marked them with pity from
her heavenly seat, and stayed the steeds of the morning in the east,
and prolonged the reign of night, that the joy of that first meeting
might not be broken until they had tasted all its honey to the lees.

Conclusion

I

Early next day Odysseus rose and donned his armour, and having charged
Penelope to keep close in her chamber, and admit no one into the
house, he set forth to visit Laertes on his farm, attended by
Telemachus and the two faithful herdsmen, all armed to the teeth.
Arrived at the farmhouse he left his companions there, bidding them
prepare the morning meal, and went out alone to find his father.
Passing through the courtyard gate, he entered a large plot of ground,
planted by Laertes as a garden and orchard; and there he found the old
man, who was digging about the roots of a young tree. With strange
emotions Odysseus noted every detail of his dress and figure--the
soiled and tattered coat, the gaiters of clouted leather, the old
gauntlets on his hands, and the goatskin cap. He who had once been the
wealthiest prince in Ithaca had now the appearance of an ancient
serving-man, broken down with years and toil.

But in the midst of his sorrow a freakish whim came into the head of
Odysseus, characteristic of his subtle and tortuous nature.
Approaching his father, who was still stooping over his work, he said
to him in a disguised voice: "Old man, I perceive that thou art well
skilled in the gardener's art: never saw I a garden better tended--not
a tree, not a shrub, but bears witness to thy fostering care. And be
n