CHAPTER XIV.
A TIMELY TORRENT.
Queen Atlana and her young charges were finishing a hurried meal in the most delightful of morning rooms. This was in the east garden, and had for floor, velvety grass; for ceiling, the interlacing boughs of two fragrant acacias; for background, a trellis overrun with morning-glories and flanked at each end by tall white lilies and the high blue shoots of the papyrus.
Further the favorite lotus flowers spread thick on the bosom of a stream to the eastward that was running blithely to lose itself in the beautiful Luith. Flowers, flowers were everywhere; for this was their land. And those of the trellis in their white, pink, blue, crimson, and purple, were preëminent for size and tint.
Who, with any spirituality, can look upon these thick-clustering morning-glories as they open joyfully to the morning sun, and not think of a higher blossoming? In their delicate texture, and soft rich coloring, they suggest the flowers of Heaven. Their ethereal loveliness fills the heart with a most tender rapture. Fit types are they of that fairer blooming of the Uplands, to which the eye has not yet pierced, to which the ear is yet unopened!
The grand eating apartment, or banqueting room, was in the western wing of the palace, and facing the south. But the breakfast room proper faced the east, and overlooked this garden morning room, the latter superseding the former for about three-fourths of the year, from the tenderness of the climate.
In the simplicity of their diet and table service, the Atlanteans might be held an example. Theirs were no cumbersome, broad tables weighed down with plate and ornamentations. The dishes and drinking vessels were of gold, silver, bronze, or tin, as accorded with the degree of the family using; and were of simplest pattern and beaten light, the spiral being the principal adornment. There were spiral handles, and spiral supports to the larger dishes, also. As to the tables, they were hollow, either broken circles or horseshoes in shape, and of three feet in width—of course affording seating capacity on the outer side only. Thus, well could the Atlanteans arrange for effective backgrounds, well could they be served. Further, such waitresses were theirs! Through the openings of these broken circles, or horseshoes, flitted beauteous maidens, white-robed and garlanded, who could but whet the appetite. Maidens ever served in Atlantis. Clever people!
In the middle of her table, sat Queen Atlana, with Æole on the right, and Electra on the left; while, farther along the broken circle, on either side, ranged her ladies. For this morning, there was a visitor—Hellen; and his place was at the end, on the queen’s right.
All were facing the garden, and the sun which was well up; and feeling happily conscious of the fairy-like background, the soft singing stream, the warblers in the acacia blooms overhead, and the lovely gliding maidens attending their few wants.
Three feet was the space allotted each at the table; and the dividing lines were rows of flowers extending crosswise, flowers of scent so delicate that they could not interfere with the appetite of the most sensitive.
Fancy a breakfast of eggs, milk, honey, dried birds, fruit, and cakes made of corn and honey—ye epicures. Well would it be could ye more than fancy. Well would it be for your poor, ill-treated organs!
But, upon this sensible, paradisiacal breakfast was stealing the serpent. Through the garden was approaching Atlano, though not with the soft, quick gliding of the animal mentioned, but with infuriated stride. However, as the serpent is the symbol of sense, the comparison will hold.
And the happy eyes of the eaters fell as one upon him! For, they were happy, in spite of what had been undergone, in spite of the parting to come. They were happy in being together.
Very calmly, cheerfully did the queen arise to meet him as he drew near, though his scowling looks were sufficient to have chilled the stoutest heart. However, in response to her salutation, he forced a smile; and bowed to the others, who, following the queen’s example, had also arisen and saluted him.
Then he said, in questioning tone, “Ye are early at the morning meal.”
“Yea, Atlano. But—for very good cause.” Rather faltering was the queen’s reply.
“I have not broken fast since this troubled night.”
“Come, then; and be strengthened.” With the words, Atlana motioned him to the seat relinquished by Æole. Quite tractably he took this, and was permitting the maidens to serve him, when his eyes fell upon Hellen, who was standing beside Æole and Electra, and talking fast.
Direful was the anger that showed in his face; and this smote upon the queen. Though she tried to talk with ease as he grew even angrier, seeming with every morsel to choke the more. Finally, unable to restrain himself, he demanded in what is known as a stage undertone, “Why is Hellen here—and at this meal?”
“It is his last morning, as thou knowest.”
“I know it not.”
“They leave this day.”
“I have not said the word.”
“Thou hast promised.”
“I meant it not.”
“We have made ready.”
“That doth not matter.”
Then perceiving that the three had ceased their talking, and were watching him, he beckoned, and said, “Æole, come hither.”
She, with the others, approached.
He arose from his scanty meal, and in softened tone, inquired:
“Æole, wouldst thou be glad to leave us?”
“Gracious King, I would be glad to go to my home; but am loth to leave Queen Atlana.” The lovely face had become downcast.
“But Pelasgia is not so far,” interposed the queen. “And we have good vessels. How strong is my wish to journey thither with thee, Æole, and place thee in the arms of thy mother!”
“Much good would the vessels do thee, Atlana,” said the king with meaning. “It is not for thee to go so far.”
“I forgot.” She laughed in a sorrowful way. “Too well I know the need of my presence to the king!”
“And thou, Electra, what wilt thou do when Æole hath left us?”
“King Atlano, I will live in the hope of meeting her, if even in Pelasgia.”
“We will come for thee, Electra,” spoke Hellen. “Pelasgia will not be Pelasgia—nor my mother, mother—nor my father, father—without thee. Where thou art is the home for me. Rather would I stay here than go from thee to the brightest fate!”
“Hush, Hellen!” Poor Electra was trying hard to bear up.
“Through the night and this morning have I wavered between my home and thee. Now is my mind clear!” And Hellen looked about him, fierce in his determination.
“Trouble thyself no longer, Hellen. Thou wilt never go back. Neither will Æole. I have need of thee, of her. Thou forgettest the pain in store for thee. I am not done with that. Never spoke Atlantean to king as hast thou, the stranger, the captive. This island may sink ere I forget it!”
The king was working himself into fury again. The listeners stood petrified, all but the queen. She spoke out with fine spirit:
“Atlano, I have this to tell thee. It hath been sent me that they are to go. A little after daybreak came the word. Since then my serving men have been making ready. I must tell thee,”—and she spoke faster,—“that I have ordered my galley. And another galley is making ready with food and drink for the use of Hellen and Æole. The two galleys are to sail down Luith to the coast, and up along that until they meet the ‘Silent Priest’ who will come in his boat.”
“Where gottest thou all this?” stammered the king.
“Didst thou not know? There came the written word from the ‘Silent Priest’ scarce an hour since. Sensel brought it.”
“Here is fine doing,” vociferated he. “And thou to obey! Art thou, like Oltis, becoming weak of mind? Art thou crazed?”
“If to be crazed is to wish well to Æole and Hellen, if to be crazed is to wish to see them well away from this island, if to be crazed is to wish to obey that grand priest—then that I am.” Drawing herself up, she looked at him with such brave eyes that he, in fear for what she might next say, temporized:
“Atlana, thou must know—everything hath gone wrong since this meddling priest set foot on the sands.”
“Have a care, King Atlano.”
“Ah, the fiery Electra speaketh. So, he is a favorite of thine.”
“He is. Better, he is the worker of the gods. That is why things have gone wrong, as thou callest it. Thy wrong meaneth right on the other side. There are two sides to all things.”
This was dreadful, but such was the force of example. If the queen would demean herself by speaking her mind, what could be expected of underlings. He glared from the rather aghast Atlana to this rebellious Electra, and said, as if hurling a weapon, “This, thy worker of the gods, is to come down from his height. Ere the day closeth, will he be yielded upon the altar!”
“Beware,” came from Hellen. And he made a step forward.
“Ha! Now it is the rash Hellen of ready tongue. Boy, thou art not in Pelasgia.”
“But soon will be.” Then his crest lowered, for he thought of Electra.
“Hellen,” urged the queen, “better would it be if thou didst not speak.” Then to the king, she said appealingly, “Atlano, of a truth, the galleys wait for us. Let us to them. As thou goest, it may be that thou wilt look with other eyes upon this.”
“Never will I look with other eyes. But I will go with thee to make this naught.”
“Make it not naught, King Atlano,” interposed Æole, to the amazement of all, even himself. Never before had she been known to address him. “Make not naught our going. The heart of Queen Atlana is in this. Let not her hopes come to naught. And, anger not the gods.”
“Hearken unto her, Atlano,” entreated the queen. “Let them go. Further, grant that I may go a short way with them. And come thou on this little sail.”
Atlano was looking into the beautiful, starry eyes that were even more eloquent than the sweet tones. And, most suddenly, felt like giving way. But, checking the impulse, he replied, as if to Atlana,
“However willing I may be for thee to enjoy thy ‘little sail,’ I may not grant it for strong reason. Thou knowest why.”
“Atlano, I will be gone but half the day. If thou wilt bring to mind, thou wert willing I should go to Chimo, and stay for days, not long since.”
“Then skies were fair, and the gods smiling. But, I take it, these late troubles make of need thy presence here.”
“Atlano, once thou didst laugh at that prophecy.”
“Then I was young, and not so wicked.” He laughed recklessly.
“Of a truth, a stay so short cannot work evil.”
“Atlana, thy words seem as though I had said this thing could be. Talk no more of it.”
“Gracious King,” urged Æole, again to the surprise of all, “shouldst thou say the word, and then come with us, thou art with the queen.”
“Æole, the prophecy doth run, ‘With Atlana at the palace, no evil befalleth Atlano.’ Wouldst thou have her go, did I grant it, after this?”
“Nay, King Atlano, not if it doth run thus.”
“Æole, thou dost yield too soon,” cried Electra, in her annoyance. “What are twenty prophecies to thy getting away!”
“Ah, it is Electra again,” sneered Atlano, “the lady of the tongue.”
“I bless heaven for my tongue if it doth wage for the right. So may all women. Only cowards or tyrants need fear the tongues of honest women; and of their fear they rail.”
“And thou, it seemeth, hast had the hope of sharing in this ‘little sail.’ Will this help thee to it?”
“The gods will help me.”
“The gods, it seemeth, are thy very good friends.” And, oh his mocking tone!
“Well would it be were they thy friends, King Atlano.”
Her eyes held more meaning even than her solemn tones. As if to ignore both, he turned to address Æole just as an attendant came from behind the trellis with the message that the galleys were in readiness. Then the ladies Rica and Elna who had gone within, reappeared, robed for the trip and bearing the queen’s wraps as well as those of Æole and Electra.
When Atlana’s mantle was placed about her, she addressed the king: “Now are we ready to go to the galleys—if it needeth to see them off—if it needeth to go with them a little. Say but the word, Atlano.”
He replied not. She continued, “Come. And thou, Æole, walk on this side. Electra, thou wilt follow with Hellen. Rica and Elna, ye will lead.—Where is Azu?”
For answer, there was heard a sound as of a falling body. All turned knowing what this meant, knowing they should behold Azu flat on his face. This was ever the manner in which he testified his knowledge of the presence of the king. And there he was, prone in front of the trellis, behind which he had been awaiting call.
Even Atlano laughed. Then, as usual, he gave the word to arise, which Azu did in sprightly fashion, to stand grinning and bowing, and showing only the whites of his great round eyes.
“Come, Azu,” said the queen. “Thou wilt hold up my robe.”
Azu lurched to this; and held up the train tenderly. The queen continued, “Now will we go.”
In this order, was the reluctant king borne through the garden, and on to the landing place. With scowling eyes fastened on the ground, he pondered as to the words he should speak upon arriving there. And no speech would he vouchsafe by the way.
Hellen and Electra, naturally, fell a little behind. When well beyond hearing, Hellen said low, “Electra, the king will never give the word.”
“Hellen, the king will give the word.”
“Thou art as full of hope as of strength. How didst thou come by a spirit so light?”
“Always hath it been mine. Never have I known fear.”
“But, of late thou hast known it?”
“Nay. Though I lost hope when I believed Æole had passed away. How I prayed to go to her.”
“Hadst thou no thought for me—for my double sorrow?”
“Hellen, I did think of thee. I knew thou wouldst sorrow much. But further, I knew it would not be for long. Thou wouldst have come to us. And what joy to be in the other life together!”
“Had I thy hope.”
“Now shouldst thou have it if ever.”
“It cometh. Electra, hearken. I hug to myself that which even Æole knoweth not. Who, thinkest thou, is the ‘Silent Priest’?”
“One sent of the gods.”
“But who—what person is he?”
She looked at him keenly, and noted his excitement.—“Thou meanest not—that he cometh from Pelasgia?”
“But I do—he cometh from there.”
“It cannot be that—he is—thy father?” Her voice had sunk to an awed whisper.
“Electra, thou readest my mind. Yea, yea, he is my father, that father I have so doubted. Thou canst imagine a little my shame, my sorrow. But I have told him, and he hath said that he doth know—that it was but in nature. Such is his grand heart.”
Electra had paused, and was breathing hard. For the first time in her life, words refused to come. Thus Hellen went on.
“Yea, and this is his plan for saving us. His wisdom hath caused these wonders—all save the quakings of the earth, and the voice. In Pelasgia, so much of hidden knowledge was his that the people called him the ‘favorite of the gods.’ And the gods are with him now.”
“But—the voice—Hellen?”
“The voice—ah, that is Sensel.” And he enlightened her. For the moment she stood motionless; and then seizing his arm that they might hasten on, murmured:
“Thou, Hellen, to further doubt! It is past belief. Help me to believe.”
“Electra, where now is thy surety?” laughed he gaily and fondly.
“That is right, Hellen. Turn upon me. I merit it after making naught thy words.” She smiled bewitchingly.
“Turn upon thee, I will! If the king sayeth the word for us to go, thou wilt see such a turning upon, shouldst thou not be of us. I will turn away from them to thee. Thus will I turn upon thee. Never will I leave thee!”
Hard was it for Electra to bear up under this. And more might follow. Hellen would do the wildest, rashest things, without doubt; for this reason she must divert his thoughts.
“I think when the thought cometh to one as strong as it did to me, during last night, that we should this day go sailing from Atlantis, it meaneth much. It meaneth we shall go. But what a drear night was this last, Hellen.”
“It was spent with thee and Æole. Therefore, was it bright.”
There was danger again. Fortunately, a turn in the garden brought them in sight of the landing place, where the others of the party were pausing, with faces turned toward them expectantly. Thus, they quickened their pace.
At the marble landing place awaited the two galleys, gay in their bright-colored awnings and hangings; whilst hovering about, were other galleys belonging to the palace and the neighboring nobles. The queen’s galley, the smaller of the two, was built of cedar, and its sides were ornamented in ebony and gold. It had but one mast, whose sail was of the costly byssus. The hangings and awnings were also of byssus, white, and richly embroidered in pale blue and corn color. The deck was inlaid with fine woods; and in the middle was the withdrawing room. This was built of satin wood, and paneled within in sandalwood; and was furnished with rugs, couches, tables, and chairs, all luxurious. On either side of this apartment, were stretched awnings, beneath which were more rugs and couches.
The other galley was arranged much like the queen’s, but was not so luxurious in its appointments, or lavish in its hangings. Evidently it was built for use. Scattered about its deck were baskets of provisions; whilst near the prow was a shallow hold, also containing baskets, and jars large and small. The withdrawing room had doors instead of hangings. The one sail was square, large, and of strong linen colored blue. Indeed, there was an air about this galley indicating it meant work. Thus, the eyes were attracted toward it full as much as toward the elegant one of the queen.
The figurehead of the queen’s galley was a bust of Amen; that of Hellen’s, a bust of Poseidon. Both flaunted banners bearing the symbol of Atlantis, a cross surrounded by a circle,[22] in gold. From each, many pennants were flying symbolic of Poseidon’s arrival on the island and his meeting with Cleito, the symbols being wrought in gold upon a blue ground.
Of the sailors, or oarsmen belonging, a few were at the oars; but the greater number were on the decks of the neighboring galleys.
Overhead, the sky was welcoming the beauteous Aurora who was now treading securely on her way. The hush, the glow, the heavenliness of young morn was upon all; and a little of its peace fell upon the spirits of the queen and her young charges, so that they stood silent, for the moment; giving inward, upward voice to their yearnings, and finding hope.
O East, with thy potent beams! It was for reason that the most ancient nations looked in thy direction for the especial Divine presence! It was for reason that their temples faced thee, their altars were placed toward thee; that they themselves, when bending the knee, looked to thee! For reason was it that the Star was set in thee, that the wise men journeyed—of their knowledge—toward thee and It!
Already, on this bright morn, were the islanders forgetting their terrors of the night. Banks of canal and stream were lined with them, for they of their curiosity, were awaiting what the king would do. Would he obey the voices of the past few days? Would he fulfill his promises to the Unseen? Would the queen show herself when her young charges were to leave?
And now,—here she was! Surely the king was about to make good his promises. With keenest expectation, they waited until the queen should look a little about her. Then, they shouted their love. She, deeply touched, bowed again and again; and smiled rarely.
But, there were no welcoming voices for the king; and the queen felt a culprit that she had received all. Meanwhile, Atlano had affected to be observing the galleys, such affectation giving place to interest until his dark face grew darker. Not long was he in bursting forth:
“Good work was this. And in an hour! Whom didst thou get—of these slow Atlanteans to manage this?”
“Sensel ran much—and helped in the bearing.” The queen’s tone was meekness itself.
“He is the spawn of evil,” vociferated Atlano, regardless who might hear. “And his fitting master is that ‘Silent Priest.’ I tell thee, Atlana, it is they have brought these evils upon us. I am more than ever sure it is their presence that doth anger Amen. Now I again say—and before you all—that Hellen and Æole shall not go. Then for some fine gifts on the altar with the morrow. The gods would thus order! Ha—ha!”
He looked a demon. Queen Atlana became gray in her terror, and clasped Æole to her. Hellen, freeing himself from Electra’s detaining grasp, was about to dart upon him when prevented in a manner as unexpected as appalling.
They were standing on a marble terrace beside a placid stream, beneath a smiling sky, and about them were heard the murmurings of the listening islanders. But, in an instant, came dread change. The sky darkened to blackness; great raindrops splashed down; and a shower succeeded that flooded the terrace in a moment. Further, wildest cries of terror arose from the fleeing islanders seeking cover.
Panic seized upon those on the landing place. They flew down the stairway to the shelter of the larger galley—Atlano leading and helping. Into the withdrawing room they sped, to close the doors, and drop upon the couches.
For full a minute the torrent beat—whilst they sat voiceless, cowering. Then it ceased as suddenly as it had come; and the sun poured its beams with such strength that they began to pant for the air. When the doors were opened, they looked out upon a scene so brilliant that they were obliged to shade their eyes. Never had the sun been as potent thus early.
They sank again upon the couches; and listened with dread to the running off of the water from the galley’s deck.
“My poor galley,” the queen murmured after a little, “in what a state is it. And the food—it is ruined.”
“Thus is it that the gods smile upon me,” triumphed Atlano.
The four confounded ones glanced hopelessly at each other. Even Electra was despairing. What evil fate was this?
Suddenly, footsteps were heard just without the door. Electra arose; and looked out to perceive Sensel.
“What is it, Sensel?”
“Naught is harmed.” And he pointed toward the hold. It was closed and the deck shorn of its baskets. He pointed next to Azu, who like himself was dripping, but whose port was that of a conqueror. Then at Electra’s inquiring look, he continued:
“I was in the hold when the sky darkened. It took scarce a minute to gather the baskets, throw them into the hold and close it. I had ended while ye stood confounded and then began to flee. As ye darted down the stairway, I called Azu; and we leaped from this galley to that of the queen, and threw over her withdrawing room the shield used for showers, and drew in the outer rugs and couches. The awnings and hanging are dripping; but, with this sun, will dry in a few minutes. Thou shouldst have seen Azu work!”
“Sensel, thou hast saved us. Azu, the queen shall know.” Then Electra turned to the eager listeners inside.
“Thou seest,” she said to the king.
“I hear, and it is Electra,” he returned mockingly. Though it was plain that Sensel’s words had upset him, as he was paling and flushing in a manner distressing to witness; and his eyes were sullen and averted.
The queen was silently giving thanks. Then she arose, her expression most confident.
“Hellen, Æole, Electra, what is this strange heat but the more aid from above. Let us not sink under it, but go out, and look as it drieth everything.”
They arose to follow her, therewith hearing the familiar sound of a body falling. Azu was ready. He again lay flat in expectation of the king.
But when they had passed out, and had waited, and the king came not, Queen Atlana said, “Azu, arise.”
When he was on his feet, she continued, “Azu, I speak the thanks of all. Well hast thou done. May I never forget it!”
Azu’s smile was ecstatic; and, between bows to the ground, and gasps, he managed to reply:
“Most gracious, most glorious Queen, for thee I can never do enough. What hast thou done for me!”
It was a long speech for him, and rather overcoming. Seeing this, the queen said in her kindest tone, “And now, Azu, my robe.”
When he had shuffled behind her, and was holding her train in his loving manner, she beckoned to Sensel who came to kneel gallantly before her. Then she extended to him her hand which he kissed in prince-like fashion—and to her surprise.
“Sensel, thou wilt not look for words. None could speak what I feel.”
“Gracious Queen, the smile thou givest me, speaketh beyond words. And, it was but little.”
“It hath saved Æole and Hellen.” Her low tone was so impressive that the hearers were thrilled. Then, in sprightly fashion she subjoined:
“Now, Sensel, arise. And lead us that we may note the power of this sun.”
Thereupon, they walked about to exclaim, “The wonder of it!” “The wonder of it!” For, so rapid was the drying that clouds of vapor were ascending. Already was the deck as free from moisture as it had been before.
As to the king, long was he in appearing. When he came out to them, his head was drooping, his tones mumbling.
“Atlana, I yield. Hellen and Æole may go. And thou mayest take thy ‘little sail;’ though let it not go beyond a few hours. I look for thee by the wane of the day.”
In the midst of the sudden joy, was felt perplexity, fear. What had come upon him? Was this most alarming interposition of the elements producing effect? Or, was there more beneath?
After some moments’ quiet, the queen of her incredulity, asked, “Atlano, meanest thou—that I can go?”
“I mean it.” Again were the words mumbled: then, with bent head, he turned to leave them.
But Æole, in her pity and gratitude, went after him; and said bravely:
“Gracious King—”
He faced her. “Speak, Æole.”
“Gracious King, bid us good speed. And, we would thank thee.”
“Æole, thank me not. I would have done thee—harm. But—the powers—have come—between!” He spoke with a queer reluctance of articulation. Then an expression came into his face that caused the beholders to shrink with horror. It was that of a soul that, at last, sees the vortex, the Gehenna, to which it has been trending; of a soul that, in spite of its better knowledge and its fast coming fate, would not shake off the evilness of its bent, the sensuality that had destroyed it!
Æole, alone, did not see this look. For, as the king faced her, she had glanced at Sensel to receive his intent gaze; and thereby had blushed, and bent her head. She lifted it to behold him staring at the king, horrified. When, in her alarm, she looked about her, it was but to see horror depicted on every face. As all eyes were on the king, she then turned to him.
The questioning look of her deep, clear, innocent eyes was as a shock to Atlano; and a good impulse stirred him. Possibly some unselfish spring was yet remaining within him. His lips moved as if he would speak, though no sound came at first, with all his effort; but finally, his unwilling tongue moved spasmodically.
“Good speed, Æole. And know—that—for thee—I would have dared earth and the powers beyond. But now I tell thee—I am glad that ruin doth threaten me—to thy saving!”
Bending over, he kissed her robe. Then with no look about him, moved from their sight.
Æole was so overcome that Sensel came beside her, and led her within the withdrawing room, and to a couch. As she sank thereon, he entreated, “Æole, cheer. The worst is past. Now for Pelasgia!”
“But thou, Sensel?” she murmured.
“I will go with thee. I came to go when I willed. It is my will to leave this island.”
All precious was the joy that came into her face.
“Sensel, always have I felt that thou camest for our good.”
“Æole, the service of my life is thine.” Then, noting her changing color, her shrinking attitude, he added, in his usual voice, “Now will I go to the queen. She hath sore pain.”
But the poor queen, weeping bitterly, was just about to enter, supported by Electra and Rica. These drew her to a couch. When she had calmed somewhat, Sensel bowed low before her, awaiting permission to address her. “What is it Sensel?” she was quick to ask.
“Gracious Queen, shall I give the word to the captains to call the oarsmen that we may go?”
“Yea, yea!” she cried brokenly. “And forever! May I never more see this landing. May Atlano be forever freed from my presence. Better were it for me to sink beneath the sea than to cumber him further. Oh, for death! So that he may no longer see my sad eyes, and through them the grieving heart beneath. Electra, I pray for death!”
“Not so, dear Queen,” answered Electra, bending over her in tears. “It is not thine to pray for death. It was not mine to pray for death as I did when I thought Æole had passed away. It is ours to be calm, and bear, believing all is ordered.”
“Electra,” was whispered, “this moment I feel that I hate Æole; and now that I say it I am flooded with fond feeling for her. I am torn—torn!”
“Ever art thou fond of her, dear Queen. But, thou wouldst have reason, were she not so pure, to hate her without end. But, thou must think, it is Æole—pure, weak, grieving Æole.”
“I know, I know. I will go to her; and clasp her.” With this, she arose, and went to sit beside Æole, to draw her to her as a mother might. Then they whispered together to their comforting.
Meanwhile, Sensel had informed the captains of the galleys that they were to depart; thus, pennants of red and gold were run up to call the oarsmen to their posts. When these were in their places, Sensel came again to the queen to report; and added:
“Queen Atlana, I go now to my master. We will meet the galleys off the great pile of rocks on the eastern coast.”
She smiled faintly, despite her sore heart. “Thanks to thee, Sensel. And, good speed to thee.”
After one look at Æole, he bounded from the galley to the stairway; and vanished.
Then the queen, with Æole, Electra, and her ladies went on board her own galley. Instantly the galleys moved off; and were followed by many of those of the nobles as well as those of less degree, in compliment to herself. While these glided through the canal, and through the water lilies of the stream, the islanders on the banks chanted their love for her. And happily they sang.
Atlana, in response, stood under her awning, bowing to right and left, and kissing her hand. Thus, on sped the galleys to the harbor; through the harbor to the ocean; and along the coast to the point where the ‘Silent Priest’ was to join them.
Here, opposite the pile of rocks, did himself and Sensel push off in the fantastic boat; whilst grouped on the sands, priests and people watched them, strangely quiet.
But, when the ‘Silent Priest’ had crossed the smiling water almost to the galleys, Queen Atlana showed herself. At once, the mass of islanders on the shore became vociferous in their acclamations. Many, of their zeal, threw off mantles, dashed into the surf, and swam even to her galley, arriving there almost with the silent one. When the latter had ascended, and was bowing low before her, the swimmers again burst forth in acclamations to be echoed strenuously by those on the galleys. The air was full of gladness.
Grouped under the queen’s awning were herself, the ‘Silent Priest,’ Hellen, Æole, Electra, and the ladies Rica and Elna—when the signal was given to move on. After Sensel had fastened the fantastic boat to the queen’s galley, he came on board also. At once, the voyage was resumed, and to the eastward, the swimmers and those remaining on the shore chanting melodiously their farewells.