“Thou saidst it was by wish of Poseidon a moment since.”
It might be truly said that the listeners held their breaths. Even Atlano’s was suspended for some seconds.
“Electra, the wish of Poseidon is the will of thine uncle.”
“Thou answerest with cunning; but tell me, is Oltis ever thus ready to obey the higher powers? Is not this a strange humility? Is there naught behind?” Here a thought presented itself. “I believe not that the higher powers are in this. It is further false speech—another shield for the working of evil by Oltis. And I know his will, his wish. He hath an eye for my riches.”
Atlano was confounded, but only for the moment. He made the movement as if to withdraw from her detaining hand. But she held on firmly, and continued:
“Yea, his will, his wish, is my riches. Bear to him the word to take all, if he will but leave me free. I speak for Æole, likewise.”
The king at this was more than confounded. His face paled, then flushed, and the words would not come. After a terrifying pause, he said in a tone subdued, conciliatory:
“Electra, another word, and thou wilt know sorrow. Mock not the will of Poseidon.”
She relinquished her hold on his robe, and fell on her knees to implore:
“O Poseidon, our father, our god, I ask this of thee: Is it thy will that I am here—that these wishes of king and priests shall have weight? Grant some sign, either of yea or nay. Is it thy will, or is it not thy will?”