“Have it thus, if thou wilt, father. It is rising high to envy thee in any state, or garb.”
“That is well said, Hellen,” spoke the queen. “But I know thine envy hath for meaning the wish to be like him.”
“He will never reach to his wish,” said Prince Pelasgus, solemnly. “That is for me. For I hold Deucalion more dear even than doth he.”
At this calumny, Hellen made as if he would dart upon him; whereupon, he took to his old posturing and evading. Then the two burst into laughter. It was plain they were the best of friends. This so pleased the queen that she declared:
“Now is my spirit cheered to the full. Or will be when I have looked upon Æole and Electra. Where are they?”
Immediately two glad voices cried from without the door, “Here!” “Here!”
In a trice, their arms—the arms of these two young girls she had so befriended and suffered for—were about her, their fervent kisses on brow, lip, and cheek.
“Dear Queen!” “Dear Queen!” they cried.
She embraced one, and then the other. Speak she could not. Then she lay back to marvel at the change that happiness had effected—even in them. In their white, flowing robes and golden girdles, with long waving hair crowned with chaplets of flowers—flowers brought from beside the Great Rock in the early morning by Hellen and Sensel—with eyes lustrous from rest, happiness, and young love, they were beauteous as Aurora when she early treads her golden days!
And these lovely flowers they were pressing into her hands but completed the spell. Supreme became her satisfaction, her delight. Surely now had come compensation. Here were these four youthful ones, here were Deucalion and Pyrrha, here were flowers that of themselves brought peaceful rapture. No, her suffering had not been for naught. A tide of thanksgiving surged in her heart; and she closed her eyes to allow it full sway.