“Altano, they are mine. My heart leapeth. They will be my children. At last the gods pity me!”
“As thou wilt, Atlana. They are thine unless ransom cometh. Though, I have the mind not to yield them.”
“Ransom! Ah, I forgot! They have a mother, a father. What is there more than woe to lose such children! I beseech thee, send them this day to their home.”
“Thou art a driveler!” With fierce look he turned to leave; and, as he strode away, added, “Fit wife art thou for Olto!”
But she went after him. “Again I ask that thou wilt send them to their home, and this day. Choose between them and me.”
He half turned, and cast at her a peculiar look, in which showed wavering. Then, in smooth, persuasive tone, said:
“Atlana, it is for thee to wait. I have to please my nobles in this. They look for ransom. It is best to seem to hearken to them for the time. After the sting of this loss is less keen, they will the better yield. Further, have a care for thyself. Where is thy trust as a wife?”
“Thou wouldst do better had I less trust, as thou callest it. There are some who have no eye for such—some who can be stirred only by lack of thought, lack of feeling, lack of faith,[[16]] until they become as full of life as were the dying under that draught of our cousin, Viril!”
“Thou meanest that draught that gave youth, never-ending youth?” asked he, eagerly, unmindful of her reproach.
“Yea.”