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What, however, puzzled Lysistra most, was the fact that Cleopis did not contradict her young mistress in the least, but maintained a mysterious silence about the whole adventure. The night after his adventure on the hill slope Democrates received in his chambers no less an individual than Hiram.
He was cordially greeted by Lysistra and seemed not at all abashed that Hermione gave only a sullen nod. From the ladies he turned with laughter to Cleopis and her burden. “A new Athenian!” spoke he, lightly, “and I fear Xerxes will have been chased away before he has a chance to prove his valour. But fear not, there will be more brave days in store.” Hermione shook her head, ill-pleased.
It was a long time before Hermione opened her eyes in her chamber. Her first words were:— “Glaucon! I have seen Glaucon!” “You have had a strange dream, philotata,” soothed Lysistra, shifting the pillows, “lie still and rest.” But Hermione shook her shining brown head and repeated, many times:— “No dream! No dream! I have seen Glaucon face to face.
Lysistra was barely persuaded not to follow her admonitions. After a few days the patient grew better, recovered strength, took an interest in her child. Yet ever and anon she would repeat over Phœnix’s cradle:— “Your father lives! I have seen him! I have seen him!”
“You had once a better memory, Democrates,” said Hermione, reproachfully. “I do not understand your Ladyship.” “I mean that Glaucon has been dead one brief year. Can you forget his face in so short a while?” But here Lysistra interposed with all good intent.
Hermione sat on a wide chair beside Lysistra, her comely mother; her younger brothers on stools at either hand. Directly across the narrow table Glaucon and Democrates reclined on the same couch. The eyes of husband and wife seldom left each other; their tongues flew fast; they never saw how Democrates hardly took his gaze from the face of Hermione.
Enough that he will grow up fair as the Delian Apollo and an unspeakable joy to his mother.” “Her only joy,” was Hermione’s icy answer. “Wrap up the child, Cleopis. My father is coming. It is a long walk home to the city.” With a rustle of white Hermione went down the slope in advance of her mother. Hermippus and Lysistra were not pleased.
In that instant he spoke and looked on me I knew him. He lives. He saved me. Ah! why does he stay away?” Lysistra, whose husband had not deemed it prudent to inform her of Themistocles’s revelations, was infinitely distressed. She sent for the best physicians of the city, and despatched a slave to the temple of Asclepius at Epidaurus—not distant—to sacrifice two cocks for her daughter’s recovery.
The gay ribbons that laced his cuirass, the red and blue embroidery that edged his “taxiarch’s” cloak, were from the needle of his daughter. Hermione kissed him as she stood with her mother in the aula. He coughed gruffly when he answered their “farewell.” The house door closed behind him, and Hermione and Lysistra ran into one another’s arms.
Hermione and Lysistra awaited Hermippus before setting homeward, but the Eleusinian was delayed. The fleet had vanished. The havens were empty. In Cleopis’s arms little Phœnix wept. His mother was anxious to be gone, when she was surprised to see a figure climbing the almost deserted slope. A moment more and she was face to face with Democrates, who advanced outstretching his hand and smiling.
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