“Believes the same. Look!”
She pointed to the majestic block of white marble behind her, and there was deeply sculptured the one word “Θεόν.”
“So of old the Athenians erected an altar to πρὸς τὸν ἀγναστον Θεόν,” said Maurice sadly, rather puzzled to know what to do. “My dearest, I am no saint, to be able to instruct you in such things; and I am afraid my views are not what the Church would approve of. However, my dear old friend and tutor, Mr. Carriston, is, I trust, coming out here to see me; and he will marry us, and tell you all you wish to know of sacred things.”
They had risen to their feet, and were standing looking at that solemn altar, so noble in its hugeness amid the encircling green. No relic of paganism sculptured with nude figures, with wreathes and nymphs and long-drawn pomp of Panhellenic festival, but a severely plain mass of stainless stone, with no other indication of its meaning than the mystic word “Θεόν” cut thereon. After looking at it in silence for a few minutes, Helena gathered up her flowers in order to return home, for the sun was now at his zenith, and the heat intolerable.
“Oh, not yet!” entreated Maurice, anxious to prolong the sweet communion; “you must make me my wreath.”
“Are you Colin?”
“I think so,” he said, kissing her fondly.
“So do I,” she replied demurely; “therefore, Colin, I will finish your garland.”
Once more she sat down on the steps and began busily wreathing the flowers together in long fragrant strings, while Maurice, lying lover-like at her feet on the flowery turf, looked ever up into the delicate beauty of her face, and wondered at his good fortune in being loved by such an enchanting divinity.
Zoe and Dick came back armed with flowers, and Dick grinned somewhat sheepishly as he saw Maurice smile. A fellow-feeling, however, makes us wondrous kind, so Maurice made no remark, but sent Zoe and her swain with their newly gathered flowers down to the Acropolis.