“Enough,” she broke in firmly, and she stood up in the swaying boat. Philippus supported her, and Orion, laying the flowers in her lap, cried so that all could hear: “Your departure will sorely distress my father. He is so ill that we did not dare allow you to take leave of him. If you have anything to say to him...”
“I will find another messenger,” she replied sternly.
“And if he asks the reason for your sudden departure?”
“Your mother and Philippus can give him an answer.”
“But he was your guardian, and your fortune, I know...”
“In his hands it is safe.”
“And if the physician’s fears should be justified?”
“Then I will demand its restitution through a new Kyrios.”
“You will receive it without that! Have you no pity, no forgiveness?” For all answer she flung the flowers he had given her into the river; he leaped on shore, and regardless of the bystanders, pushed his fingers through his hair, clasping his hands to his burning brow.
The barge was pushed off, the rowers plied their oars like men; Orion gazed after it, panting with laboring breath, till a little hand grasped his, and Mary’s sweet, childish voice exclaimed: