“Trouble thyself no longer, Hellen. Thou wilt never go back. Neither will Æole. I have need of thee, of her. Thou forgettest the pain in store for thee. I am not done with that. Never spoke Atlantean to king as hast thou, the stranger, the captive. This island may sink ere I forget it!”
The king was working himself into fury again. The listeners stood petrified, all but the queen. She spoke out with fine spirit:
“Atlano, I have this to tell thee. It hath been sent me that they are to go. A little after daybreak came the word. Since then my serving men have been making ready. I must tell thee,”—and she spoke faster,—“that I have ordered my galley. And another galley is making ready with food and drink for the use of Hellen and Æole. The two galleys are to sail down Luith to the coast, and up along that until they meet the ‘Silent Priest’ who will come in his boat.”
“Where gottest thou all this?” stammered the king.
“Didst thou not know? There came the written word from the ‘Silent Priest’ scarce an hour since. Sensel brought it.”
“Here is fine doing,” vociferated he. “And thou to obey! Art thou, like Oltis, becoming weak of mind? Art thou crazed?”
“If to be crazed is to wish well to Æole and Hellen, if to be crazed is to wish to see them well away from this island, if to be crazed is to wish to obey that grand priest—then that I am.” Drawing herself up, she looked at him with such brave eyes that he, in fear for what she might next say, temporized:
“Atlana, thou must know—everything hath gone wrong since this meddling priest set foot on the sands.”
“Have a care, King Atlano.”
“Ah, the fiery Electra speaketh. So, he is a favorite of thine.”