as summoned to Troy to fight in a worthless woman's
cause."

"I have marked it too," answered Menelaus. "Such were his very hands
and feet, and the carriage of his head, and the glance of his eye.
Moreover, when I made mention of Odysseus he covered his face, and
wept full sore."

Telemachus was still too much distressed to speak, and Pisistratus had
to answer for him: "Thou sayest truly, my lord; it is Telemachus
himself. Nestor sent me with him to inquire of thee, and crave counsel
of thy wisdom. He is left like an orphan in his home, with none to aid
him, and take his father's place."

Then Menelaus drew near to Telemachus, and taking his hand kindly
said: "Welcome again, and thrice welcome to these halls, thou son of
my trustiest friend and helper! It was the dream of my life to bring
Odysseus and all his household from Ithaca, and give him a home and a
city in this land, that we might grow old together in friendship and
loving-kindness, never to be parted until death. But envious heaven
has blighted my hopes and hindered his return."

At these sad words every eye was moist, and all sat silent, absorbed
in sorrowful memories. Pisistratus was the first to speak, and his
words roused the rest from their melancholy mood. "Son of Atreus," he
said, "my father has often spoken of thy wisdom, and perchance it has
taught thee that sorrow is an ill guest at a banquet. The dead,
indeed, claim their due, and he would be hard-hearted who would grudge
them the poor tribute of a tear. But we cannot mourn for ever, even
for such a one as my brother Antilochus, whom I never saw, but thou
knewest him well, stout in battle, and swift in the pursuit."

"'Tis well said," replied Menelaus. "Thou art wise beyond thy years,
and a true son of Nestor. Happy is he, beyond the common lot of men,
and smooth and fair runs the thread of his Destiny. He dwells in a
green old age in his father's house, and sees his sons growing up
around him, true heirs of his valour and prudence. Now let us banish
care, and get to our supper, for the day is far spent, and we have
matter for talk which will last us all the morrow."

When they had finished eating, and the cups were about to be
replenished, Helen rose from her seat, and, whispering a few words to
the cupbearer, left the hall. In a few minutes she returned, carrying
in her hand a small phial, whose contents she poured into the great
mixing-bowl from which the cups were filled. "Now, drink," sh