Eight of her brethren will it not, but Constantine doth hearken:
—‘Nay, mother, send thine Areté, send her to that strange country,
That country whither I too fare, that land wherein I wander,
That I may find me comfort there, that I may find me lodging.’
—‘Prudent art thou, my Constantine, yet ill-conceived thy counsel:
If there o’ertake me death, my son, if there o’ertake me sickness,
If there hap bitterness or joy, who shall go bring her to me?’
He made the Saints his witnesses, he gave her God for surety,
If peradventure there come death, if haply there come sickness,
If there hap bitterness or joy, himself would go and bring her.