Persephone smiled at him in approval, then her features became serious as she asked: “Has the traitor of Thermopylæ yet been discovered? But for him, our city would not now be in ashes and thousands of lives would have been spared including that of my dear brother, Phales.”
She raised tear-dimmed eyes to her companion: “Ephialtes, seek the traitor and deliver him to us, that through the agency of man, God may avenge that foul act of treason. Could you do this, Greece would honor your name as it did that of Miltiades.”
The man turned his face away, his mood quickly altered by the girl’s words.
“Humanity is fickle,” he replied with a peculiar air of detachment. “Miltiades did not enjoy public favor for long, you remember. Just because he went on a little trip to avenge a personal wrong, immediately the populace forgot his heroism at Marathon and convicted him for that minor offence.”
“But,” replied the girl, “Miltiades became arrogant and forgot public interests for his own. Zeus always punishes insolence by having Justice recompense in due season.”
Ephialtes was obstinately silent, unmoved by Persephone’s words. He dared say no more for fear of betraying himself. Persephone, he loved to as great an extent as it is possible for one of such selfish instincts to love. She did not possess great wealth, and conscious of his own mercenary nature, he wondered that he could so love where money was no object. He had great respect for her mental superiority, while at the same time he feared it, but it was her physical loveliness which appealed to him most. He longed to possess her, body and soul, and the usual patience with which he could await the attainment of his desires, was becoming depleted. He had always prided himself on his ability to bridle his impulses if he felt that they interfered in any way with the ultimate attainment of a desired goal. Where self-restraint is lacking, there is no order, and no one knew this any better than Ephialtes.
It was that magical hour between daylight and dusk that is of such short duration in the countries of the south. Away to the west stretched the hills of Salamis, the setting sun shedding a flood of glory upon the picturesque undulations. Then one by one the stars began to appear and soon the canopy of the heavens was studded with myriads of twinkling lights.
“Let us hasten back to the island,” said Persephone shivering slightly. “The air is chill and I brought no wrap with me.”
The young man removed his cape and placed it around the shoulders of his companion. Persephone seemed despondent. Even the beauty of the evening on the water beneath the stars did not cheer her. The barge was now, at the request of the maiden, turning its prow toward the promontories of her temporary home.
“Persephone,” pleaded the youth once more, “will you not give me an answer now, and if in the affirmative, I shall be the happiest man in all Greece.”