“Had I my will, ye should go this day. If the king would but heed my prayers.”
“Dear Queen, we know how often thou dost beseech him for us, and we tremble.”
“Fear not that he would harm me. Too well doth he need me.”
She smiled pathetically. Then into her face came such a weary expression and succeeding far-away look that the two fell to talking in subdued tones of lighter matters; and, as they talked, Æole took up her embroidery, which Hellen at once began to examine and admire.
While thus engaged with each other, the queen aroused from her reverie, and regarded them intently.
Æole was looking as the lilies in her white linen robe embroidered in blue, which she herself had wrought from spinning to completion. Wonderfully fair and perfect was the face, and aglow with intelligence, character, sweetness, purity. Of a strange beauty was the gold red hair that curled from the low, straight forehead to fall long from the pearly fillet; whilst her eyes were dark blue stars, and touching the grace of every pose and movement of her lovely form.
As she gazed, the queen agonized, for perils were threatening this innocent one; and she wondered if Hellen had any inkling of these, any suspicions. He was so handsome, fiery, generous, brave. It was not in him to brook scorn or insult. Besides, how well did the two love each other! What one would suffer in the other!
The queen again closed her eyes to lose herself in sorrowing over them, but not for long. Soon footsteps were heard beyond the trees. She aroused to speak the dread words:
“The king.”
Æole also half arose, with the wild intent to run away. Then, regaining self-possession, sat again; though, when the king appeared she was trembling and paling so as to alarm Hellen. “Strange,” he thought, “this dread of Æole for the king. She knoweth liking for all save him.”