Meanwhile the queen had sat down; and now was motioning for the others to sit also. But the priest shook his head, thereby causing her to question by her look.
“Queen Atlana, I will stand until all things are made plain to thee.”
The others chose to stand also. Electra brought a fan, and fanned the queen, who had closed her eyes.
Shortly Atlana was able to ask, “Thou whom we call the ‘Silent Priest’—who—art—thou?”
“Queen Atlana—I am—of Pelasgia.”
He spoke in Atlantean; and repeated in Pelasgian.
As the once familiar tongue was heard, Æole ran half way toward him, clasped her hands, and looked up in his face with eyes brilliant from unspeakable hope. The most beautiful color came into her cheeks, and her lips parted in a heavenly smile. So lovely, so angelic was her expression that the beholders gazed spellbound. And low, fervent were her tones.
“I felt it, I felt it!—‘Silent Priest’ who art thou? Thy name?”
“Daughter,” and he approached her, his arms extended, “my name—is—Deucalion.”
“Father!” She would have fallen at his feet, had he not caught her.