Zopyrus turned to survey the landscape which lay all green and gold about him. The familiarity of the scene at this point came to him as a shock. There to the right lay the olive-grove and there, he could mistake it not, was the same tree beneath whose gnarled branches he had laid his precious burden on that day which would live forever in his memory. Again he seemed to feel the weight of her unconscious body; again he observed the beauty, winning seriousness and refinement of her features and yet once again he imagined he heard her ask if he were not a disguised Greek soldier! It was with an effort that he forced these memories from him. A year had passed and he would probably never see her again. She must have perished during the months that followed the battle of Salamis as many Greeks had. It was folly, he resolved, to waste one’s life in vain regrets. He was about to take as his wife a chaste girl of excellent parentage, whose love was wholly his, and he would do his best to make her happy! As they passed the path to the southward where he and the maiden had turned to view the battle from the promontory, he turned his eyes resolutely to the anxious countenance of Eumetis and smiled, seeking to forget that which would force itself uppermost in his consciousness. He partially succeeded, for the eyes of the maiden, so full of loving regard, gave him a promise of undying affection. He placed his hand over hers as it lay on the side of the carriage, then suddenly he stopped as if struck by an arrow.
Upon his ears in solemn cadence fell again the hymn to Dionysus, the pæan of joy which had miraculously saved Greece. It was now being sung for the first time since that memorable event. Every voice that helped to swell the triumphal song, thrilled with irrepressible ecstasy. Only in the heart of one did sadness mingle with joy.
“What is the matter, Zopyrus? You are ill! Mother, stop a moment! I can walk as far as the fountain of Kallichoros while Zopyrus takes my seat in the carriage.”
Zopyrus quickly gained control of his emotions.
“Foolish girl,” he said with mock severity, “do you think I would ride while you walked? I assure you I am perfectly well. The fountain is just now in sight where we shall rest and enjoy a little jest and merry-making.”
The voices and innumerable instruments which had filled the heavens with harmony ceased their music. Vast masses of clouds which swept the sky, alternately unveiled and eclipsed the sun. A crisp breeze sprang from the sea, so that the mystæ proceeded along their way after a short stop, desirous of reaching the Fountain of Kallichoros before the storm which threatened should break. Their hopes were more than realized. The sun peeped out from behind a cloud just as they reached Eleusis by the sea, and shone directly above the gleaming temple to Demeter. With its magic rays it lit up the whole sacred precinct. First were visible the propolæa and the small temple of Pluto. To the left was the Telesterion, a large covered building adjoining which was the sacred temple to the goddess Demeter, where only those were admitted who had received full initiation.
“This is the sacred temple,” whispered Cleodice who already assumed the office of mystagogue, “and beyond, where you see the waving field of corn, lies the Rharian Plain where Demeter first sowed corn. Still farther is the field called Orgas, planted with trees consecrated to Demeter and Persephone.”
An official cried in a loud voice, “To the sea, ye Mystæ.”
“You must undergo further purification,” said Eumetis, “before you can proceed nearer the holy environs of the temple.”
At this point Cleodice and Eumetis left Zopyrus who was hurried on with others to the seashore and into the sea where the final purification took place. Nearly opposite lay Salamis, the view from this point differing but little from that which he had obtained from the promontory nearer Athens.