As they moved about Poseidon, they threw in his chariot their bunches of flowers, so that quickly he was standing amid heaping floral tributes. And Cleito was not neglected, for each took off the garland running from shoulder to waist, to lay it about her, after stooping to kiss her hand. And, oh, the grace of it all!
Quite a while did this last, to the delight of the beholders. After the handmaids had again resumed their places, all grew grave, for the time had come when Oltis was to deliver the speech eulogistic of Poseidon.
He stood up high before them in front of the altar, and his haughty tones rang out:
“Gracious King, Gracious Queen, Priests, Nobles, People: another year hath brought plenty upon Atlantis. Another year have the gods smiled: another year have they breathed into our minds their will. And, this day, as a year since, yea, as thousands of years since, we meet to joy in the festival of our Father Poseidon, and to plead for his further favor. I, his high priest, though far from worthy—”
Here was most fearful interruption. From the statue of Poseidon emanated a groan; and then it flung at Oltis this.
“Why art thou far from worthy?”
Oltis shrank back, mute, and gazed in horror at the statue. The people, screaming in terror, fell against each other. The king and queen started to their feet, and stood rigid.
But Oltis, with greatest effort, rallied. In loud, though shaking tones, he continued:
“I call myself far from worthy, because with the years I the better know my failings, my evil turnings—”
“Is thy new robe an evil turning?” was now spoken abruptly by a powerful voice at the rear of the assemblage.