“Shall we take Argos with us?”
“I am afraid we cannot, my dear girl. See, we are all heavily laden. Where is my uncle?”
“He has gone to take a last look at the valley,” said Helena, bursting into tears.
“Poor uncle!”
At that moment Justinian reappeared in the court, with a haggard face, his shoulders bent with the weight of his grief. In a few hours he had aged years, and now this terrible blow had broken him down completely. He had taken one last farewell of the valley he loved so much, of his dead people who were there sleeping in their terrible tomb, of all his schemes for reviving the old Hellas of the past; and now took up his burden, in common with the rest, to abandon the Acropolis forever.
The little band sadly left the beautiful home in which they could no longer hope to dwell, and took their melancholy way up the winding path which led up to the altar glade. Argyropoulos went first, then Dick came, supporting the weeping Zoe, and finally Justinian, with his nephew on one side and his daughter on the other, came slowly walking along, overcome with grief. All his schemes, all his expenditure, all his works were now at an end; and, as far as results went, the last forty years of his busy life had been absolutely wasted.
Just as they reached the altar inscribed Θεόν, which had witnessed of late the birth of young love, Temistocles, in a state of great excitement, came running up the path which led from the cliffs.
“Kyrion! Kyrion! the pirates! pirates!” he cried in Greek.
“Another blow!” said Justinian, with a harsh cry. “Are we not to escape with our lives? How many boats?”
“Eight, Kyrion, crowded with men.”