“Atlana, cease, or thou wilt have sorrow.”
“Sorrow! What sorrow is like to this, to take Æole from me. Say thou wilt not.”
“Oltis is firm. Æole will serve in the temple. Hellen will be the messenger.” And he turned as if to avoid further insistence.
She seized his hand, and implored, “What shall I say—do—that thou wilt hear?”
“Thou canst say naught. I leave thee to think upon it.”
With this, he roughly withdrew his hand, and turning, strode away.
Most direful was this shadow. As nothing were the longings, the homesickness. Æole became so wrought with terror, that Atlana set aside her own woe in order to comfort. As for Hellen, he paced as if beside himself for a little. Then paused before the queen, declaring:
“Æole shall not go to that temple. May her life cease ere then. Thinkest thou, dear Queen, that I have no eyes, no ears?”
“Hellen, what knowest thou?”
“I know—that—for all its fair outward look—evil worketh within. The gods are thought of only in form. Those priests would be gods, would rise in their flesh to heaven. Have I not heard the whisperings of the people as to the noise and mirth of the inner parts? Is not Oltis without truth, full of guile? Is not the worship mocked? Are not the animals yielded on the altar, yea, the serving of handmaids, mockeries of the olden holy laws? Handmaids, in truth!”