He rubbed his hands hard in his satisfaction. “That is right, Æole. I merit thy chiding. Yet I could not but go. It is worth the going to hearken to thy scolding.” His eyes were twinkling.
“A fine thing will it be to tell mother.” Then her voice lowered in dread. “If she be but well? If she hath not sunk beneath her woe? The doubt doth torture.”
Deucalion shivered. He also was doubting; though she must not know. Thus he insisted:
“Æole, the gods can but bring joy to thy mother. Never hath she murmured, never hath her trust lessened. But come. Let us go out into the air.” (Though he turned for the moment aside.)
The queen was stirring; her eyes were opening. Before passing out, Deucalion whispered to her ladies, “She is better. When she rouseth, say not aught of what hath happened.”
They went out to come upon Sensel who was standing near the door. At sight of Æole, he hastened to draw a couch more under the awning, with the words,
“Æole, thou wilt find ease on this.”
Much wondering at the sudden exhilaration possessing her, she sat down.
“Æole, thou art well?”
“In truth am I.”