“It cannot be.”
“We will go back.” Sorely overcome, the captain held out a hand to one of the sailors, with this aid, tottered from the prow to the deck, and then hid himself.
After further deliberation, it was decided that the few vessels should return at once, and all the others await them here. Hard did Deucalion struggle with his impatience to be off!
Shortly, the two captains had again exchanged galleys. When the captain of the queen’s galley was once more on board his own, and had been supplied with food from the plenteous stores of the Chimoan vessels, he moved off; and was followed by two of the Chimoan vessels bearing such of the nobles as would return. To dire sounds, the three hastened away.
When they were well off, Deucalion and Sensel went on to Hellen’s galley, which lay quite to itself beyond the others—the queen’s condition demanding this. Dimmer and dimmer grew Sensel’s eyes, and more and more fluttering his heart. Was it well with Æole? When departing, her unconsciousness had been his comfort; but, had such continued? Or, had she come out of it to keenest suffering—not only for her father, but also for himself? (This last thought, he held in humility, so little did his selfhood prevail.)
Continually was he imploring that she might still be sleeping. But when beside the galley, his emotion became most evident.
“Sensel, what aileth thee?”
“Æole—thinkest thou she still sleepeth?”
“Her sleep will not end until we are with her.”
“Unless Hellen hath waked her.”