“Those who pressed within this inner holy place yesterday, may have noted that there were no signs of the missing handmaids. And, of this, the people may have been told. They should, then, be more than ever in doubt as to their present place—unless they are dead of all feeling.
“Though, what else can come of a people who can bear such mockeries, who break the marriage laws, who wed within forbidden limits, who are given over to feasting, drinking, pleasuring; who think no longer of raising higher the mind, but only of delighting the body; and yet, who, in the midst of all, daily see and touch monuments that speak with force of past virtue, of a worship once most pure.
“Should these islanders be brought in to see the sight below, it would not help. For the island is doomed. Not long could these evils last even if the islanders should still be as stone, after seeing. And any trouble now, will but hinder our going.
“I have it. I will write what I have seen; and ere leaving, will send it to the people of Chimo. They are the best and strongest of these islanders. Yea that will I do. It may help the handmaids, should the doom of the island be stayed a little.
“But, ah, this strange inner sight, why faileth it? Why, for many days, hath it left me, so that I know not if Pyrrha liveth. Yet, why should I doubt, after what I have felt and seen? Sure am I that she liveth. Sure am I that, in the end, joy will be ours. Yet am I weak—weak!”
Whilst thus Deucalion mused and suffered, the day broke. With the first entering rays of the sun, Oltis stirred; and gradually shook off the now willing iron bands. Shortly he arose, but only to fall back of his weakness. Then Deucalion gave him of the life cordial, after mixing with it a few drops of a red elixir. Thereupon, Oltis arose, and stretched as if arousing from sleep. Some minutes afterward, he was walking about unsteadily. And Deucalion waited a little.
“Oltis, lean upon me. We will go to the portico.”
He complied. Sad was it to see the docility of this hitherto proud and intractable man. As they walked, Deucalion spoke low:
“Say but the words that will speed the children and myself on our way to Pelasgia.”
“I know thee, at last, strange man,” was returned wearily. “But what knowledge! Ah, if Atlano but knew! Even as it is—how hath he longed for thy blood. And—to find—thou art—Deucalion!”