XVIII.
Clytie’s heart was throbbing with excitement. In passing on she raised the curtain hanging at the door of the apartment in which stood the images of the household gods, and bowing towards the little statues, wholly invisible in the gloom, murmured in a low tone:
“Do not be wrathful, protectors of my race! Do not desert me because I forsake you.”
Then, accompanied by Doris, she walked through the open hall into a large work-room set apart for women. The darkness here was so great that nothing was visible save two narrow grey streaks; these were the loop-holes in the wall, through which the room received its light by day. A warm atmosphere, the heat emanating from human bodies, greeted the fugitives, and they heard the heavy breathing of numerous sleepers. Most of the female slaves of the household spent the night here on couches made of piles of cushions or felt rugs ranged along the wall. As Doris moved towards the garden door she ran against something, probably a tall tripod. She hastily caught at it, but in the darkness missed her aim and it fell with a heavy crash, while a copper lamp which had stood upon it rattled on the stone floor. The slave women started from their sleep; the shrieks of one terrified the others till all vied in screaming. Hasty footsteps crossed the peristyle, and a man’s voice cried angrily:
“What an ado! Why are you yelling so? What is it?”
“Hush, you simpletons!” said Doris’ well-known tones, “do you take me for a thief who has lifted the door off its hinges or dug his way through under the wall?”
“What are you doing here?” asked the door-keeper of the women’s apartment; for it was he who had hurried in.
Meantime Doris had found the lock and put the key in it.
“Oh, pshaw!” she replied, as though vexed by so much disturbance, “I’m going to pour out the bath-water. In the dark I ran against a tripod—it fell, and so they screamed as if they were possessed by some evil demon.”
With these words she opened the door, pushed Clytie out, and followed herself.
The fugitives now found themselves in the garden. Here the darkness was not too great to permit them to distinguish without difficulty the paths winding between the black masses of the shrubs and trees. A damp wind blew into their faces and the odor of the flowers was oppressively strong; they heard a rustling among the leaves, like the sound of dice dropping on a copper shield, and big drops fell singly.
After the anxiety she had experienced Clytie felt unspeakable relief. It seemed as if she inhaled liberty with every breath of the night air, and she thought with a touch of joyful dread of meeting Hipyllos. Doris was still absorbed by the remembrance of the nocturnal disturbance in the house, but consoled herself by thinking that the door-keeper would explain everything.
Outside the garden gate stood two dark figures. One wore his hair cut short—so he was a slave; the other had long locks, and though both appeared like dim black outlines Clytie instantly recognized Hipyllos by the stately way in which his mantle was draped about him—in itself sufficient to mark the young Eupatride.
Clytie’s heart beat faster, and she suddenly trembled in every limb as she had done the evening she stole out to meet the priestess of Sabazius. She had scarcely stepped outside of the garden, when Hipyllos hurried towards her.
“I thank you,” he said, “blessings on you for coming.”
The young girl made no reply; she was far too much agitated and confused to be able to utter a single word.
“You saw the necessity,” Hipyllos continued, “and besides....”
He paused and, smiling, gazed into her face; he had never seen her look lovelier. The blue-striped kerchief she had thrown over her head cast a slight shadow upon her features, which lent them a mysterious charm.
... “And besides,” he added, “you wrote that you trusted me.”
Clytie raised her dark eyes to him.
Hipyllos threw his arm around her waist, and though he felt a slight movement of resistance he led her in this way the short distance to the hired house where the priestess of Sabazius lived. It was a dwelling called a tristegos, a three-storied house which belonged to Sauros, the armorer, and stood close beside his workshop.
At the first subdued tap of the knocker, Ninus was ready and opened the door.
Hipyllos clasped both of Clytie’s hands.
“We must part,” he said. “But, whatever happens, do not go home until you have received a message from me. And now farewell, you beautiful one, you darling, you light of my life!”
He pressed her to his breast, and ere she could prevent it he had snatched a kiss.
But Clytie tore herself from his embrace, gathered the folds of her robe around her, and fled as lightly as a deer up the steps, where her slender figure vanished in the darkness.
Hipyllos gazed after her.
“By Aphrodite,” he exclaimed, “she is like a butterfly.”