It was upon these that the curiosity and impatience of the congregation centered; it sometimes happened that there were none; in such case the procession was closed by the Demetrians—that is to say, all who had already accepted the mission and completed it. On this occasion a single figure was seen to enter the portal, covered with the yellow veil and so draped as to conceal her features. The head, however, more usually bowed, was erect. For a sensible period of suspense it was impossible to tell who it was that had assumed the yellow shroud; but presently those nearest to her had discovered Lydia, and her name passed in an awful whisper to where we stood. The name once pronounced, there could no longer be mistake; Lydia alone of all the postulants could so hold herself: Vera incessu patuit dea. I felt a clutch at my arm, and, turning, saw the face of Chairo blanched and hard; but I was too absorbed in the procession to take long heed of him; I saw the procession close, and followed the ritual with breathless interest till the congregation was dismissed, unaware that Chairo had already slipped away from me and out of the temple.
As Ariston and I walked back to our lodging I asked what Chairo would do. Ariston answered that he feared trouble. We were both deeply affected, for even Ariston, votary of Demeter though he was, could not but feel as I did, that there was something in the choice of Lydia strange and portentous. We discussed it in low voices, and for many days little else was spoken of. Meanwhile, anxiety regarding the action of Chairo redoubled for he had disappeared. It was well known that the Demetrian council was taking steps, but no one knew what the steps were, and a sense of impending calamity weighed upon us all.
From the moment Lydia had decided to accept the mission, there seemed to grow in her a strength that was not her own. She rose from the couch, on which she had thrown herself upon leaving Iréné, without a symptom of her old irresolution; she stood without sense of fatigue while the yellow shroud was so draped about her as to hide her face to the utmost possible, for though she knew she could not escape recognition an instinct in her set her upon the attempt to do so; and when in the procession she entered the portals of the temple, a glow moved up from her heart to her head that deeply flushed her countenance as she heard the whisper "Lydia" grow from mouth to mouth into an almost angry protestation. Nevertheless, she felt sure now that she was right; it was easier as well as nobler to make the sacrifice than to yield. She walked firmly, with head erect, until she sank upon her knees before the altar, and the choir's triumphant processional was subdued in low responses to the chant of the high priest.
At last he turned to her and lifted his hands in mute suggestion that she should bring her tribute to the goddess. A Demetrian presented her the flint which was to symbolize the strength of her sacrifice; the priest gave her the steel that symbolized its cruelty; and striking one against the other she lit a spark that added a new flame to the altar. This was the irrevocable act. A great sigh mingled with many sobs broke from those present in the temple; but her eyes remained dry, and at the close of the ceremony she walked back to the cloister as firmly as she had left it.
But once returned, there came upon her the inevitable reaction; she discovered that the strength which had come upon her suddenly could no less suddenly forsake her; she threw herself upon a couch and asked to be left alone. As the door closed upon her attendant she was half astonished, half afraid to find sobs invade her and tears gush from her eyes. What did it all mean? Had she a will of her own, or was she merely the arena upon which instincts, half of heredity, half of education, were fighting out their battle, independently of her? She seemed to have become a mere spectator of it; alas, she must also be its victim. She lay sobbing until the sobs slowly died away, leaving her exhausted, and at last she slept like a tired child.
The next morning she awoke as weak as though she had had a long fever. It was the custom for novices to be removed to a temple in an island off the coast as soon as they accepted the mission—for, from the day of acceptance they were secluded—living with Demetrians only, under conditions which, though compatible with their mission were, nevertheless, most conducive to gayety and health. But Lydia was too weak to be moved; and she lay in her bed night and day, eating little, sleeping little, very quiet. There was hardly room in her thoughts for regret; she had committed the irrevocable act and now she must resign herself; her body had been exhausted by the struggle and cried for rest; and rest was given her.
Slowly her strength returned, and she was beginning to feel the time had come to go to the island cloister when, suddenly in the middle of the night, she was aware that some one had pushed aside the curtain at her door and was standing in her room. She had neither seen nor heard anything, but she was conscious of a presence, and a guilty delight in her heart told her, however incredible, that it was—Chairo.
She raised herself in her bed on her hand and found herself seized in a passionate embrace.