Here Æole, who had been far off in her abstraction, asked:
“Hellen, thinkest thou the queen will see thee on the morrow?”
“It is my hope.”
“Bid her take cheer. Tell her my duties are light, that my room is next to that of my sister Electra. Tell her my fond thoughts are hers, that I live on my hope to get to her.”
“I will.”
“And give her my fond greeting,” spoke Electra. “She was the friend of my mother, and I saw her much until these last years.”
“Electra, why did we never meet thee before?”
“Queen Atlana and mine Uncle Oltis have not been friends since my grandfather Olto died. The queen doth think my grandfather was hastened to his death through the lack of care of Oltis.” Her voice had sunk to a whisper, and she looked cautiously about her. “That is why the queen never cometh to the temple. That is why I have been kept from her.”
“Oltis is a blight on all that is good,” responded Hellen.
“Yea, and he doth master the king. It is no wonder that the queen doth shun him.”