Darkness fell but she took no food, and worn out with weeping she dropped into a dreamless sleep. She awoke with a sense of depression. It was dawn and birds were twittering in their nests about her. It was apparent from the silence that the household was still wrapped in slumber. Gathering her shawl more closely about her she made her way cautiously through the house to the street. Along narrow lanes she threaded her way with unnatural rapidity. She ran between mud-colored walls that rose on either side, punctuated with doors out of which stared disheveled women. Piles of rotting garbage lay in her path and she was forced to dodge now this way, now that, to avoid the slinking forms of dogs that were seeking food among the piles of refuse. As she neared the vicinity of the harbor she met men and women who looked at her curiously. Then she realized what an aspect she presented; wild-eyed and with unkempt hair, but she cared naught for her appearance. She was obsessed with one idea; to present herself a willing companion to Cimon on his journey.
On the quay she approached a woman, apparently of the upper class, who with many others was gazing steadfastly out at sea, with the words, “When does the fleet said for Thrace?”
For answer the woman pointed to the distant horizon where a few indistinct blots were barely discernible.
“It sailed before sunrise,” said the woman. “I came to see it off because the great commander Cimon honored our family by taking my daughter Agariste with him as his bride.”
CHAPTER XXVIII.
The Hand of Fate.
“Before he mounts the hill, I know
He cometh quickly; from below
Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow
Before him, striking on my brow.”
Tennyson.