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"It is sinful," he said, "to grieve so for a beast devoid of reason." "Iambe is not devoid of reason," replied Sirona. "And even if she were, what have I left if she dies? She grew up in my father's house, where all loved me; I had her first when she was only a few days old, and I brought her up on milk on a little bit of sponge.
She was indeed a he: for it was a youth in woman's dress who played the rollicking part of Iambe, and it was Alexander's friend and comrade Diodoros who had represented the daughter of Pan and Echo, who, the legend said, had acted as slave in the house of Metaneira, the Eleusinian queen, when Demeter took refuge there.
She is still far from being ripe for salvation, and yet she has a gentle heart, and even if she has erred, she is not lost." Sirona's eyes had met his, and she said with a sigh, "You look at me so compassionately if only Iambe were well, and if I succeeded in reaching Alexandria, my destiny would perhaps take a turn for the better."
She was indeed a he: for it was a youth in woman's dress who played the rollicking part of Iambe, and it was Alexander's friend and comrade Diodoros who had represented the daughter of Pan and Echo, who, the legend said, had acted as slave in the house of Metaneira, the Eleusinian queen, when Demeter took refuge there.
Melissa threw her whole soul into the dance while Demeter was seeking the lost Persephone, her thoughts were with her brothers; and she laughed as heartily as any one at the jests with which Iambe cheered the stricken mother. And when the joy of meeting was to find expression, she need not think of anything but the fact that the youth who held out his hand to her loved her and cared for her.
He dared not go into the cavern, but he felt his eyes fill with tears, and he would willingly have spoken some word of consolation to her. At last she came out, her eyes red with weeping. Paulus had guessed rightly for she held the body of little Iambe in her arms. "How sorry I am," said Paulus, "the poor little creature was so pretty."
"It is sinful," he said, "to grieve so for a beast devoid of reason." "Iambe is not devoid of reason," replied Sirona. "And even if she were, what have I left if she dies? She grew up in my father's house, where all loved me; I had her first when she was only a few days old, and I brought her up on milk on a little bit of sponge.
I have lost my home, and here every one believes the worst of me, although I have done no one any harm, and no one, no one loves me but Iambe." "But I know of one who loves every one with a divine and equal love," interrupted Paulus. "I do not care for such a one," answered Sirona. "Iambe follows no one but me; what good can a love do me that I must share with all the world!
It could be heard from afar, but the voices of the shouters were already weary, and most of the torches had burned low. The wreaths of ivy and myrtle in their hair were limp; the singers of the hymn no longer kept their ranks; and even Iambe, whose jests had cheered the mourning Demeter, and whose lips at Eleusis had overflowed with witticisms, was exhausted and silent.
No doubt she feared his wrath, and was hidden under her bed or behind the curtain which covered his clothes. "The dog," thought he, "is still cowering by her " and he began to make a noise, half whistling and half hissing, which Iambe could not bear, and which always provoked her to bark angrily but in vain. All was still in the vacant room, still as death.
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