for Chios, and if the Greek half equals thee, then it would be so
apparent to the Proconsul.'

'Never you care! Give me a philtre to cool his love.'

So, without more words, Endora stepped into the gloom of the cave, and,
opening one of the chests, took therefrom ingredients for the spell. On
the altar the woman laid some embers of fire, and, pouring oil over
them, they sent forth a little blaze, shining out and lighting up the
faces with a lurid glare, casting dark shadows behind them. For a moment
no voice broke the stillness of the place. After the woman had placed
her crucible upon the fire, she turned to Nika, saying:

'Listen while I brew.' Stretching forth her bony hands, she said, 'Take
this, thou haughty Greek:

'Fish remora,
Brains of calf,
Hair of wolf and bones of toad,
Blood of doves and hippomanes,
Scarlet oak and bruised snake,
Screech-owl's feathers and marrow of men--
Men who have drowned at sea.

Crackle the laurels under the pot;
Thrice I stir, thrice I chant the mystic number three.
Who shall withstand the philtre Endora of Hecate brews?
Simmer, ye potion!
Brew, ye philtre!
Spirits of Hades, draw out the essence
Of fish and beasts, birds and men!
Make the broth strong so the sediment worthless may be.
Help ye the drawing of love by the lover
From Chios who drinks of this mixture of Hell!'

Turning, she saw the girl pallid with fright and shading her eyes with
her hands.

'Ah, Mistress Nika, thou art terror-stricken! What if I should clear thy
vision and let thee see the spirits surrounding the charmed vessel?'

Endora blew out the light, and the twain were in darkness, except for
the glare of the dying embers. The girl uttered a death-like wail, and
fell to the ground like a corpse. When consciousness returned, she saw
the witch sitting in a cleft of the rock, with a sardonic smile on her
face and a small phial in her hand. But it was not filled with the
brewage; its contents were harmless. Endora knew her role too well to
join Nika and Chios.

As the love-stricken maid grew fully awake, she cried:

'Oh, woman, thou art terrible! Is it thus thou makest the philtre? Had I
known so much, my heart would have failed me. Thou art truly of Hecate,
and so is Saronia. Is your creed the same?'

'No, proud daughter of Venusta. It is the same, yet not so. Saronia is
blessed of Diana; I am the accursed of Hecate.