Yet still continued Deucalion and Sensel mute.
Then demanded a voice, “Tell us the worst!”
“That can I tell you,” answered Deucalion.
“What is it?”
“The island is no more. It hath sunk.”
Wails, shouts of incredulity responded.
Deucalion repeated his words, and convincingly. There were no more incredulous tones, but instead despairing cries, wails, groans, fierce imprecations. The wildest sounds of woe prevailed. At length, the same voice that had asked for the worst rang loud, imperative, this time demanding silence. It proved to be that of the captain of the queen’s galley. He agonized, but firm, was standing out on the prow of Hellen’s galley; and continued:
“Sir Priest, in truth, is Atlantis no more? Have a care—there left we our dear ones.” His voice broke, but he stood straight and strong.
“Captain of the galley of the queen—thy wife, thy little ones—are above. Look not for them—or the island—on earth.” Deucalion’s tones were faltering, but he also stood firm.
“We have but thy word. How can we believe? I cannot. I would see with mine own eyes.”