“Queen Atlana, I have a right to mine own.”
“But not a right to lead us wrong—to—to use us.”
“Queen Atlana, how have we been used?”
She answered not.
“Queen Atlana, to gain my children, I have used powers given from above. If through such, I have mastered king and priests, have caused the sleep of Æole, have drawn thee, judge whether or not the gods are with me. Answer me in this, seemeth they to be with Atlantis?”
The queen arose; and ignoring his question, demanded, “Sir Deucalion of Pelasgia, if it doth agree with thy will, let it be ordered that the galleys turn toward Atlantis.” Bitter, scornful was her tone.
“Dear Queen Atlana, not yet,” interposed Electra. “If thou wilt think for a moment, thou wilt judge he hath done what thou wouldst have done in his place. Wouldst thou not have done as much for children of thine own—even for Æole and myself? Further, with all his art, his power, none hath borne pain, hath lost life. Think, he might have brought an army upon Atlantis.”
“Electra, I could stand the bringing of an army better than this. How have I been tricked! To think I have set myself against the king, even to coming on this ‘little sail.’ And to please whom, to wait upon whom? Why, his foe Deucalion. Atlano—Atlano!” Utter despair was in tone and gesture.
“Queen Atlana, thy coming is not of thine ordering. Cast such thought from thee. If it hath been of mine ordering, the higher will is behind,” urged Deucalion.
“Sir Deucalion, thy words are idle. As if the Higher Good should set aside thought for all save thee and thine. Thou hast high thought of self. But the sun shineth on all. It is my will that my galley be turned.” Hard had it been to control herself. And now her tones broke. “Should harm come to Atlano, I cease to live! The blame, the grief, I could not bear! Sir Deucalion, why hast thou not moved? My galleys are not ordered!” And she turned to Sensel, as if he might help her.