“Thinkest thou there is still hope, Monon?” interrupted a by-stander.
“Of what?”
“That we may come out of this?”
“I believe there is no hope. But, we can die without murmur.”
In the next instant, he pointed to the temple gateway.
“Behold—Priest Kluto and the handmaids.”
They looked to perceive Kluto marshaling the handmaids without. Well had he pleaded for this with Chief Urgis, pleaded that the wretched young creatures might be restored to the arms of their kindred whom he knew must be awaiting them. And he prevailed, as Urgis and the other priests had become so given over to terror as not to care for consequences.
Further, Kluto was in the main, correct; for, as the handmaids stood clinging to each other, and glancing piteously about them through the falling ashes and rain, they were surrounded by watching, anxious dear ones; and began to be suffocated almost of embraces. All save three!
Yes, three there were that stood shrinking, as they lost hope of recognition. In dreary silence, they waited a little, and then moved beside Priest Kluto, who had been looking inquiringly from them to the islanders. But all, excepting those caressing the fortunate handmaids, were acting dazed because of the thickening showers of ashes and the now pelting rain. And prayers and groans were filling the air.
So Priest Kluto gathered closer the three handmaids; and whispered to them. Thereupon, the four began to make their way through the excited, ejaculating crowds in order to ascend to the summit, to the temple of Poseidon and Cleito.