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One can see Hermippus’s and Lysistra’s purpose with half an eye.” “Cleopis, Nania, what is this vile tattling that I hear?” The young mistress’s eyes blazed fury. Nania turned pale. Hermione was quite capable of giving her a sound whipping, but Cleopis mustered a bold front and a ready lie: “Ei! dear little lady, don’t flash up so!
Her thoughts only for that wicker cradle which swung betwixt the pillars, where Hermippus’s house looked toward Salamis. It is easy to praise the blessings of peace. Still easier to paint the horrors of war,—and yet war will remain for all time the greatest game at which human wits can play. For in it every form of courage, physical and moral, and every talent are called into being.
That morning he had mocked at Nemesis. That night he heard the beating of her brazen wings. Despite exile, life had moved pleasantly for Hermippus’s household that spring. The Trœzenians had surpassed all duties to Zeus Xenios—the stranger’s god—in entertaining the outcast Athenians. The fugitives had received two obols per day to keep them in figs and porridge.
But in mere desire to make her dark cloud break, her parents were continually giving Hermione pain. She guessed it long before her father’s wishes passed beyond vaguest hints. She heard him praising Democrates, his zeal for Athens and Hellas, his fair worldly prospects, and there needed no diviner to reveal Hermippus’s hidden meaning. Once she overheard Cleopis talking with another maid.
And many a housewife, as she rewarded the singers, dropped a silent tear, wondering whether another spring would see the innocents anywhere save in a Persian slave-pen, or, better fate, in Orchus. Yet to one woman that spring there came consolation. On Hermippus’s door hung a glad olive wreath.
“To be supplied in full measure at the trial,” rejoined the orator. “And now to the second letter itself.” “Ay, the letter, whatever the foul Cyclops that wrought it!” groaned Glaucon through his teeth. Themistocles took the document from Hermippus’s trembling hands. His own trembled whilst he broke the seal. “The handwriting of Glaucon. There is no doubt,” was his despairing comment.
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