“But I have not time to go. In a few days is the festival of our Father Poseidon.”
“I may take Æole?”
“Æole will leave for the temple now. It is time her bearers were here.”
“Thou meanest she will go by force?”
“If it needeth.”
“It is only over my dead body she will go!” And Atlana, spurred by her terror, fairly ran back to the retiring room.
But close upon her was Atlano, as she leaned over the shrinking girl. Then, as they faced each other defiantly, the king gave a low call to which came the answering of many soft footsteps.
The dazed queen next heard Rica shriek, and fall as in a swoon. Then the hangings were thrust aside, and there hastened in several of the guards of the great court of the temple. At this outrage, the brave spirit might well have succumbed; but instead, she threw herself upon Æole and held her tight.
Severe was the struggle between husband and wife; but Atlana held on with that strength that comes of desperation, until the king produced a taper, which one of the guards lighted, and held to her nostrils. Then the dauntless lady fell back into the arms that should have been her stay, her shield, senseless; and was placed on a couch, there to lie as if in deep slumber.
Æole, who had fainted, was borne on a chair to the courtyard, where a closed chariot was awaiting her; whilst the mystified attendants looked on, and listened to the plausible explanations of her bearers.