Grim was then the laughter of the Atlanteans. To this succeeded desire to know which was Deucalion’s home. They were about to inquire, when the same woman, of her frenzy, cried:
“See—Pyrrha, Pyrrha! The wife of Deucalion!”
The Atlanteans, following her glance, again comprehended. Under some trees, at a little distance, were kneeling, entwined, a woman and two children. The leader eagerly asked:
“Is that the wife of Deucalion?”
The woman, understanding, bowed in affirmation.
“And the children of Deucalion?”
Again the woman bowed her “Yes.”
There was a swift movement of the chief and his men toward the group. Perceiving this, Pyrrha, with her children, arose, and the three stood in passive dignity. But less swift grew the approach of the marauders, as they the better beheld this Pyrrha, this fair, noble, most lovely woman, who, with the mother fear in her eyes, was holding tightly a youth well grown and a little maiden. For the moment a feeling akin to reverence came upon the fierce men, so that they halted. But the leader, overcoming this, went still nearer, and demanded:
“Give me the children!”
Of her intuition, Pyrrha understood. Tighter grew her grasp, as she besought mercy with her eyes. But the chief hardened only the more, for he was calculating upon the ransom that these children must bring. So he laid his hand upon the youth, strong in his purpose.