He reached the vessel to find Æole bending over its side, pale, resolved; and surely she comprehended, from her eyes.
“Father,” she said in lowest tone, “Father, I will come down, after thou hast come up.”
“It is well.”
He ascended, and assisted her. When almost at the bottom of the ladder, she spoke:
“Help me, Sensel.”
This dear voice aroused him. He stood, and held out his arms. Into these she crept, knowing well how to comfort him. Then she coaxed him to sit down beside her that they might talk. With her hand in his, and no thought for the eyes upon them, she whispered, “What is it, Sensel?”
Little by little, he related the sad story. At the end, she was weeping. Distressed, he begged her not to be overcome. But the tears were as much for himself as for the evil news, so changed was he from the happy, ardent, brilliant Sensel who had so fondly dwelt upon his hopes only the night before.
He begged her to grow calm, whereupon she cried the more giving this as reason, “How can I not weep when I behold thee in such grief?”
Then started the tears in his own eyes; and they wept together, to their comforting. Thus does nature afford compensation.
But shortly they were drawn from this by calls from Queen Atlana’s galley, and looked to find Deucalion was beckoning to them. So Prince Pelasgus began to row to him, when near enough receiving this as explanation: