“Thinkest thou, Hellen, they were yielded on the altar, the gifts of a wicked worship? Or what else thinkest thou? What thoughts have been mine since the first lovely young girl was taken from the others. And I have had from Atlano but laughter, mockery, when I have questioned.”
“Queen Atlana, thou hast rent me!”
Hellen had arisen to pace wildly: and then stopped, and fell to considering after the manner of one demented.
“Hellen, it will not do to give way as if mad. Rather, case thyself in rock. Thou shouldst be serpent and dove, wouldst thou help Æole and Electra.”
“Easy it is to talk thus!” He paused, choked for the moment. “But—what can I do? How can I help them? Oh, ye base Pelasgians, to leave us to this fate! I would wish to be born of stones, iron—not of such flesh and blood!”
“Hellen, thou art going mad, thus to charge thy parents, and such parents! Call to mind that thou hast told me of their truth, their care. Nay—thou art not going mad—thou art mad. Yea, demons hold thee. Leave me, Hellen!”
The queen’s indignation would have overwhelmed any save this fiery, reckless, despairing youth. He was too far gone to be reached by reproach of any kind. Thus, he turned away, saying:
“Thou hast said it, Queen Atlana. I will leave thee. My own bitter thoughts are more dear than the cheer thou givest. But with thee I leave my fond wishes, for thou hast been father, mother in one, the gods bless thee!”
With this he began to hasten away.
The queen watched him in anguish. He must not leave with such a sore spirit. When he was even at the door, she murmured: