“Forsake not the truth, Pelop. And—young was I.”
“Of a truth, wert thou young. And art young still. Therefore, in thy youth of body and mirth of spirit, go not beyond the bounds of kind thought. I speak of Electra.”
“Thou hast the right, as ever, Pelop. I fear I have judged in haste. But, as thou knowest so well young women, thou shouldst have knowledge, also, of riper ones. We love to set up our sex in judgment.”
“And yet, after judging, are but the more ready to forgive,” was the gallant answer.
Pelop, honor to him, was right. In all innocence had Electra gone with Hellen. So, when he had descended the ladder, brought the boat well under it, and attached it, she was ready to follow him; and did. When at the bottom, she turned, and held out her hand to make the spring. Hellen, as he stood firmly in the boat, spoke in calmest of tones: “Jump, Electra.”
She obeyed, holding out both hands to him. But ignoring the hands, he caught herself, to hug her close and with the strength of his eager young love as he drew her down to a seat. Rapturous was his whisper, “Now have I thee to myself, Electra!”
It must be confessed that, for the moment, Electra was helpless from delight. But, womanlike, in the next, she rallied to say and do that which was most foreign to her inclination. For all the times were so ancient, she remonstrated with the usual dignified manner of to-day.
“Shame, Hellen! Let me go. Thou dost forget thyself!”
“Forget myself, Electra! At last am I acting my true self. At last am I doing what I have longed for day and night, at last I clasp thee!” Here he hugged her even harder. “And thus clasping thee, could I die, did I think thou wouldst not look upon me. For beyond words art thou dear—as thou shouldst know. Now, wilt thou be my wife?”
This suddenness was overwhelming. But such was Hellen. As she struggled to free herself, she spoke with fine reason. “For thee to talk of wedding! Thou art too young. As am I. Let me go.”