Hermon knew them both.
At first he fancied that his excited imagination was showing him a threatening illusion. But no!
The erect figure was Ledscha, the crouching one Gula, the sailor’s wife whose child he had rescued from the flames, and who had recently been cast out by her husband.
“Ledscha!” escaped his lips in a muttered tone, and he involuntarily extended his hands toward her as she was doing toward the goddess.
But she did not seem to hear him, and the other woman also retained the same attitude, as if hewn from stone.
Then he called the supplicant’s name loud tone, and the next instant still more loudly; and now she turned, and, in the faint light of the little lamp, showed the marvellously noble outlines of her profile. He called again, and this time Ledscha heard anguished yearning in his deep tones; but they seemed to have lost their influence over her, for her large dark eyes gazed at him so repellently and sternly that a cold tremor ran down his spine.
Swinging himself from his horse, he ascended the steps of the temple, and in the most tender tones at his command exclaimed: “Ledscha! Severely as I have offended you, Ledscha—oh, do not say no! Will you hear me?”
“No!” she answered firmly, and, before he could speak, continued: “This place is ill chosen for another meeting! Your presence is hateful to me! Do not disturb me a moment longer!”
“As you command,” he began hesitatingly; but she swiftly interrupted with the question, “Do you come from Pelusium, and are you going directly home?”
“I did not heed the storm on account of Myrtilus’s illness,” he answered quietly, “and if you demand it, I will return home at once; but first let me make one more entreaty, which will be pleasing also to the gods.”