“You have not offended me, Zopyrus, and I sincerely hope that what I am about to say will not hurt you. Do you believe, my friend, that I honor you most highly?”
He nodded affirmatively and she continued, her thoughtful, sincere eyes resting upon him contemplatively: “Then I will tell you why I have seemed strange. I love Polygnotus who returns my affection, and but for the fear of wounding you, a friend whom he holds most dear, would wed me now at any time.”
The stage, the theatre, the Acropolis, and even the fleecy clouds floating dreamily above, seemed to whirl about in a colorless eddy. Only the eyes of Eumetis remained stationary. At one moment they seemed to be accusing eyes, at another, reproachful, then pitying, but his last impression of them was that they portrayed peace and happiness. His conscience would not permit him to play the heroically sacrificing lover, nor did he really experience any elation because of his freedom. He simply clasped her hand and murmured: “I understand.” She looked at him quickly with a questioning glance as they rose and turned their faces homeward.
Before they reached the western limit of the Agora, the familiar figure of Polygnotus suddenly turned from a side street and came toward them. Zopyrus imagined that a fleeting expression of pain passed over the artist’s kindly face at sight of them.
“Eumetis has something important to say to you,” said Zopyrus laying a hand on his friend’s shoulder as the three met. “It is only good news,” he added at the startled look of inquiry upon Polygnotus’ face.
“Then I shall be glad to hear it, but will you not join us on our homeward way, Zopyrus?” asked the artist as Zopyrus turned to leave.
“Not for the present,” Zopyrus replied evasively. Then moved by a sudden impulse he seized a hand of Polygnotus and of Eumetis in each of his. He desired to invoke the blessing of the gods upon this couple whom he loved so dearly, but so deeply was he affected that he was unable to speak, and turned his back in the direction of the theatre, scarcely realizing what he was doing.
Before reaching the Acropolis he turned northward, pursuing as direct a course as possible along the winding, closely built streets, till at last the dwellings became more interspersed with garden-plots, and finally between two spreading acacias he spied the massive masonry of the Dipylon Gate. He turned back for one last look at the Acropolis. There it stood in its solitary grandeur, its ruined temples resembling a circlet of irregular pearls. Although this was the fifth time that he had passed through the great gate and along the Sacred Way, never until now had he known that this road led to the girl he loved. Unmindful of the scorching rays of the sun which beat down upon him, he pressed on thinking only of the goal. When, however, he was overtaken by a farmer in a cart who was returning to his farm near Eleusis after leaving his produce at the Athenian market, he gladly accepted an offer to ride.
The sun was approaching the horizon a little to the left of the travelers, and stretching into the distance were the fertile fields which the driver designated as his own.
“Here is where I live, my friend, but I can drive you on to Eleusis if you wish,” said the farmer.