“Priest Kluto, thou goest the wrong way,” called out a youth as he pointed to several galleys, that, unfastened from their moorings, were being borne higher and higher by the rising stream. “Why not set off in those galleys, and save the handmaids?”
“No galley could live on the white water beyond. We go to the summit, to beseech the mercy of Amen and Poseidon; and, should the last moment draw nigh, to meet it as becometh us.” With encouragement, he looked upon the shrinking handmaids.
But one cried hysterically, “If my mother and father were not in Chimo. There is cheer in dying together!”
In sweet, plaintive tones, spoke the second, “There is cheer in not being forgotten. I have father, mother, sisters, brothers. Yet not one cometh to look for me!”
“For very good cause,” screamed old Nogoa, who was still sitting on the fallen bough, and whom they were passing. “Celesa, I saw thy father, mother, sisters, and brothers go off in their galley after the queen.”
“I thank the gods!” And Celesa, with face illumined, fell on her knees to implore that they might be beyond danger; to give further thanks that she was not forgotten, that she alone of her family was selected to suffer.
But Kluto raised her, and drew her arm within his. Then the third handmaid spoke low, “Happy are ye two! Though I have neither father, mother, sister, nor brother, yet one there was who cared for me when I was dragged to the temple. But him I see not. He hath not watched to know if I should need him. Yet—we played together—as children!” She laid her head upon Celesa’s breast, and sobbed.
“His name?” whispered Celesa.
“Veris.”
“Where is the youth Veris?” inquired Celesa in low, clear tones, but without looking about her.