upon the land. As Hermione looked
and saw the climbing sun change the tintings of the waters, here spreading
a line of green gold amidst the blue, here flashing the waves with dark
violet, something of the peace and majesty of the scene entered into her
own breast. The waves at the foot of the slope beat in monotonous music.
She did not wonder that Thetis, Galatea, and all the hundred Nereids loved
their home. Somewhere, far off on that shimmering plain, Glaucon the
Beautiful had fallen asleep; whether he waked in the land of Rhadamanthus,
whether he had been stolen away by Leucothea and the other nymphs to be
their playfellow, she did not know. She was not sad, even to think of him
crowned with green seaweed, and sitting under the sea-floor with
fish-tailed Tritons at their tables of pearl, while the finny shoals like
birds flitted above their heads. Thales the Sage made all life proceed out
of the sea. Perchance all life should return to it. Then she would find
her husband again, not beyond, but within the realms of great Oceanus.
With such beauty spreading out before her eyes the phantasy was almost
welcome.

The people had wandered homeward. Cleopis set the parasol on the dry grass
where it would shade her mistress and betook herself to the shelter of a
rock. If Hermione was pleased to meditate so long, she would not deny her
slave a siesta. So the Athenian sat and mused, now sadly, now with a gleam
of brightness, for she was too young to have her sun clouded always.

A speaker near by her called her out of her reverie.

"You sit long, _kyria_, and gaze forth as if you were Zeus in Olympus and
could look on all the world."

Hermione had not exchanged a word with Democrates since that day she cast
scorn on him on that other hill slope at Munychia, but this did not make
his intrusion more welcome. With mortification she realized that she had
forgotten herself. That she lay on the sunny bank with her feet
outstretched and her hair shaken loose on her shoulders. Her feet she
instantly covered with her long himation. Her hands flew instantly to her
hair. Then she uprose, flushing haughtily.

"It has pleased my father, sir," she spoke with frigid dignity, "to tell
me that you are some day perchance to be my husband. The fulfilment lies
with the gods. But to-day the strategus Democrates knows our customs too
well to thrust himself upon an Attic gentlewoman who finds herself alone
save for one servant."

"Ah, _kyria_;