Of his agony, he paused.
“Hellen, what more knowest thou?”
“What more? Is not this enough? What more knowest thou?”
There was no reply. But Æole spoke feebly:
“Hellen, may I die rather than go there. To be near the king and those priests!” Her shuddering was so excessive that Hellen was obliged to support her, while he implored:
“Æole, be brave. There will be a way out of this.”
“She hath not gone. I have a voice.” The queen drew Æole to her, and whilst caressing her, and looking upon her in her grace and innocence, thought:
“Ah, Æole, I could hate thee, but that thou art so dear! If I could die in my shame. If we could both die. And once I was happy, in the young days of my fond trust. How ages far they seem. It is that I have lived before. Is this Atlano?”
She fell to weeping in a quiet, hopeless way, so that Hellen and Æole, in their turn, essayed what comfort they could. Thus passed the weary day.
The next morning, Maron was announced with a message from the king. Æole was bidden to leave the palace at noon. As the queen had been expecting this, she was ready.