of the isle, when her mother's voice called her back.

"They go."

A line of streamers blew from the foremast of the _Nausicaae_ as the piper
on the flag-ship gave the time to the oars. The triple line of blades,
pumiced white, splashed with a steady rhythm. The long black hull glided
away. The trailing line of consorts swiftly followed. From the hill and
the quays a shout uprose from the thousands, to be answered by the
fleet,--a cheer or a prayer to sea-ruling Poseidon those who gave it hardly
knew. The people stood silent till the last dark hull crept around the
southern headland; then, still in silence, the multitudes dissolved. The
young and the strong had gone from them. For Athens this was the beginning
of the war.

Hermione and Lysistra awaited Hermippus before setting homeward, but the
Eleusinian was delayed. The fleet had vanished. The havens were empty. In
Cleopis's arms little Phoenix wept. His mother was anxious to be gone, when
she was surprised to see a figure climbing the almost deserted slope. A
moment more and she was face to face with Democrates, who advanced
outstretching his hand and smiling.

The orator wore the dress of his new office of strategus. The purple-edged
cloak, the light helmet wreathed with myrtle, the short sword at his side,
all became him well. If there were deeper lines about his face than on the
day Hermione last saw him, even an enemy would confess a leader of the
Athenians had cause to be thoughtful. He was cordially greeted by Lysistra
and seemed not at all abashed that Hermione gave only a sullen nod. From
the ladies he turned with laughter to Cleopis and her burden.

"A new Athenian!" spoke he, lightly, "and I fear Xerxes will have been
chased away before he has a chance to prove his valour. But fear not,
there will be more brave days in store."

Hermione shook her head, ill-pleased.

"Blessed be Hera, my babe is too young to know aught of wars. And if we
survive this one, will not just Zeus spare us from further bloodshed?"

Democrates, without answering, approached the nurse, and Phoenix--for
reasons best known to himself--ceased lamenting and smiled up in the
orator's face.

"His mother's features and eyes," cried Democrates. "I swear it--ay, by all
Athena's owls--that young Hermes when he lay in Maia's cave on Mt. Cylene
was not finer or lustier than he. His mother's face and eyes, I say."

"His father's," corrected Hermione. "Is not his name Phoenix? In him wil