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There’s a gay hour coming before Zeus claps the lid over you in Tartarus.” “Peace,” commanded the navarch, who betwixt Phormio’s shouts, Lampaxo’s howls, and Hiram’s moans was at his wit’s end. “Has no one on this ship kept aboard his senses?” “If you will be so good, sir captain,” the third Hellene at last broke his silence, “you will hearken to me.” “Who are you?”
“Your slave’s ears hear the first part of your message with joy,”—Hiram’s smile never grew broader,—“the second part, which my Lord speaks in anger,—I will forget.” “Go! go!” ordered the orator, furiously. He clapped his hands. Bias reëntered. “Tell the constables I don’t need them. Here is an obol apiece for their trouble. Conduct this man out.
Democrates drew himself up angrily. “I know my duty; I’ll denounce you to Leonidas.” “You gave a pledge and oath.” “It were a greater crime to keep than to break it.” Lycon shrugged his huge shoulders. “Eu! I hardly trusted to that. But I do trust to Hiram’s pretty story about your bets, and still more to a tale that’s told about where and how you’ve borrowed money.”
I don’t wants to name no names ’doubt I’se ’bleeged to; but dey done start a kiarrin’ de cotton seed off de place, and dats how.” If Hiram’s information had confined itself to the bare statement of things “goin’ wrong,” such intimation, of its nature vague and susceptible of uncertain interpretation, might have failed to rouse Thérèse from her lethargy of grief.
The divans were covered with wondrous stuff which Democrates could not name,—another age would call it silk. A tripod smoked with fragrant Arabian frankincense. Silver lamps, swinging from silver chains, gave brilliant light. The Athenian stood wonderbound, until a voice, not Hiram’s, greeted him. “Welcome, Athenian,” spoke the Cyprian, in his quaint, eastern accent.
But that wrong doing presented as a tangible abuse and defiance of authority, served to move her to action. She felt at once the weight and sacredness of a trust, whose acceptance brought consolation and awakened unsuspected powers of doing. In spite of Uncle Hiram’s parting prediction “de cotton ’ll be a goin’ naxt” no more seed was hauled under cover of darkness from Place-du-Bois.
Your slave is not afflicted by dreams.” Hiram’s smile was extremely insinuating. “Don’t quibble with words. It would be I who slew him, though I never struck the blow. You can seize him. Is he not asleep? Call Hasdrubal—bind Glaucon, gag him, drag him to the ship. But he must not die.”
Nothing—except a miracle sent from Zeus.” “Such as what?” “As merciful Hiram’s relenting and releasing your dear Glaucon.” Lycon’s chuckle was loud. “Never, as you hope me to be anything save your mortal enemy, mention that name again.” “As you like it—it’s no very pretty tale, I grant, even amongst Medizers. Yet it was most imprudent to let him live.”
If he comes hither again, do you and the other slaves beat him till there is not a whole spot left on his body.” Hiram’s genuflexion was worthy of Xerxes’s court. “My Lord, as always,” was his parting compliment, “has shown himself exceeding wise.” Thus the Oriental went. In what a mood Democrates passed the remaining day needs only scant wits to guess.
The rear portion, formed like a marvellous temple, reminded one by its appearance of that edifice of Solomon that Hiram’s carpenters, the first skilled in the art of building, erected on Zion. The Jews imitate it to this day in their schools, and the design of the schools may be traced in their taverns and stables. The roof of lath and straw was peaked, turned-up, and crooked as a Jew’s torn cap.
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