At last Zenas spoke. He had his hat in his hand, and he mopped his forehead with a handkerchief, although the day was cool.
“Words fail me, boys,” he said. “I wonder if you understand what it is to behold this spectacle. Look on this scene of desolation wrought by the hand of ruthless man. It is quite enough to make the gods weep!”
“However was she ruined, professor?” inquired Brad.
“It occurred something like two hundred years ago. At that time the Parthenon stood almost unchanged in its matchless magnificence. The Turks used it as a powder magazine. The city was besieged by an army of Venetians. They bombarded the town. One of their shells exploded in the powder magazine. Behold the result!”
“Say, that was a whole lot bad!” exclaimed the Texan. “It sure was a shame!”
“Let’s get nearer,” urged Dick.
They threaded their way amid the ruined columns and statues, drawing nearer to the ruins of the Parthenon. The professor told them how the Parthenon had been despoiled of its treasures.
At that moment they seemed to be quite alone on the plateau of the Acropolis, but suddenly, from amid the pillars of the temple, dashed a Grecian girl, who did not seem to be more than sixteen years of age. She saw them and uttered a cry.
A moment later two men appeared in close pursuit of her. Both were Greeks. One was a man of forty-five or a little more, while the other could not have been much past twenty-one. They shouted for the girl to stop.
She ran toward the boys and the old professor, and the cry that came from her lips was one of terror and appeal. Her pursuers were close on her heels.