rage! Yet this is a solitary place, and
the gods are revengeful."

I cannot say how artlessly ran that voice in this still garden, by
some strange power persuading me on, turning all doubt aside, calming
all suspicion.

"There is honeycomb here, and the fruit is plenteous. Yes," she said,
"and all travellers are violent men--catch and kill meat--that I know,
however doleful. 'Tis but a little sigh from day to day in these cool
gardens; and rest is welcome when the heart pines not. Listen, now; I
will go down and you shall show me--did one have the wit to learn, and
courage to remember--show me how sails your wonderful little ship;
tell me, too, where on the sea's horizon to one in exile earth lies,
with all its pleasant things--yet thinks so bitterly of a woman!"

"Tell me," I said; "tell me but one thing of a thousand. Whom would
_you_ seek, did a traveller direct you, and a boat were at your need?"

She looked at me, pondering, weaving her webs about me, lulling doubt,
and banishing fear.

"One could not miss--a hero!" she said, flaming.

"That, then, shall be our bargain," I replied with wrath at my own
folly. "Tell me this precious hero's name, and though all the dogs of
the underworld come to course me, you shall take my boat, and leave me
here--only this hero's name, a pedlar's bargain!"

She lowered her lids. "It must be Diomed," she said with the least
sigh.

"It must be," I said.

"Nay, then, Antenor, or truly Thersites," she said happily, "the
silver-tongued!"

"Good-bye, then," I said.

"Good-bye," she replied very gently. "Why, how could there be a vow
between us? I go, and return. You await me--me, Criseyde, Traveller,
the lonely-hearted. That is the little all, O much-surrendering
Stranger! Would that long-ago were now--before all chaffering!"

Again a thousand questions rose to my tongue. She looked sidelong at
the dry fountain, and one and all fell silent.

"It is harsh, endless labour beneath the burning sun; storms and
whirlwinds go about the sea, and the deep heaves with monsters."

"Oh, sweet danger!" she said, mocking me.

I turned from her without a word, like an angry child, and made my way
to the steps into the sea, pulled round my boat into a little haven
beside them, and shewed her oars and tackle and tiller; all the toil,
and peril, the wild chances."

"Why," she cried, while I was yet full of the theme, "I will go then
at once, and to-morrow Troy will come."

I looked l