“Yea, dear Electra, it is!” Hellen was elated. “And dear Æole! Now, ye dear ones, take hold of me. For, it is time that we go.”
Each clung to him; then buoyantly they sped to the temple.
The next evening, Hellen was again delayed; and again hastened to the alley, hoping there, as before, to rejoin the waiting ones.
But, in the alley, they were not. Neither beyond the thicket.
Back he rushed to the tower with the faint hope that they might be teasing. But neither were they here—not even at the top.
In a great dread, he tore down the staircase, and to the hillside door;—thence back through the alley, and beyond the thicket: and there paused to gaze on the stream as if it, if it would, might help him.
Then he called; and, for response, heard but the bulls that seemed to mock at him. Where were they? Could they be hiding? Were they laughing in some near nook over his distracted movements? No—too well he knew their tender hearts, their impatience ever to greet him!
But, perhaps Sensel had come beyond the thicket, was there laughing at his distress. Hellen waited, even hoping he might step forth. Hard was it to bear up as the moments crept on, as his imagination grew riotous.
Erelong, he started to run back to the alley. And was on the point of rounding the thicket, when a tall figure came upon him.
But, it was not Sensel. No, this was King Atlano! And without attendants.