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"That is only an impolite name for a woman, dear. You have no sense of humor, Frank, or you would call me an April lady." "Because you change every five minutes. H'm! It's puzzling." "Is it? Perhaps you would like me to resemble Widow Anne, who is always funereal. Here she is, looking like Niobe."
The fact that the name Vindex signified an avenger disturbed him greatly, and he could no more get it out of his mind than the image of the "Niobe" with her ominous dark eyes. He would see her no more; and in this he was helped by the gladiators, for they now approached him, and their frantic enthusiasm kept him for some time from all other thoughts.
The white rain clouds, rolling as ever like a nervous intruder over the great snow peaks behind the steep hills black with forest that rose like a wall back of the little settlement of Sitka, parted for a moment, and the sun, a coy disdainful guest, flung a glittering mist over what Nature had intended to be one of the most enchanting spots on earth, until, in a fit of ill-temper with one of the gods, no doubt she gave it to Niobe as a permanent outlet for her discontent.
Dion is terribly extortionate.” She cast down her eyes, expecting instant succour from the susceptible seaman, but to her disgust she saw he was admiring only the babe, not herself. “Ah! Gods and goddesses, what a beautiful child! A girl?” “A boy,” answered Niobe, almost sullenly. “Blessed the house in Trœzene then that can boast of such a son.”
"Little Lord Chepstow?" repeated Cleek, glancing over at the countess, who stood, a very Niobe in her grief and despair, holding out two imploring hands in silent supplication. "That is your ladyship's son, is it not?" "Yes," she answered, with a sort of wail; "my only son my only child. All that I have to love all that I have to live for in this world."
She had indeed much to be proud of; but it was not her husband's fame, nor her own beauty, nor their great descent, nor the power of their kingdom that elated her. It was her children; and truly the happiest of mothers would Niobe have been if only she had not claimed to be so.
The South lay battered and bruised, and pros trate in blood, the "Niobe of nations," as sad a victim of ingratitude as King Lear.
"Then one possessing sufficient motives could be happy without end?" she suggested doubtingly. "That is my theory. The Niobe of old had happiness within her power." "The gods thought not," said she; "in their very pity they changed her into stone, and with streaming eyes she ever tells the story of her sorrow." "But are her children weeping?" he asked. "I think not.
“Themistocles, Themistocles—your promise!” Then by some giant exercise of will he steadied. His speech grew more coherent. “Give me the child,” he commanded, and Niobe mutely obeyed. He kissed Phœnix on both cheeks, mouth, forehead. They saw that tears were running down his bronzed face.
Though the remark be well-founded, that the original of Guido's female heads is the Niobe of antiquity, yet the ground of this similarity is surely no mere intentional imitation; perhaps a like aim led to like means.
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