Iona had stopped with her eyes fixed southward, as if she saw through the mountain wall that measureless garden, and the city of her imagination shining in the setting sun.
She turned quickly, seeming startled to be reminded that she was not alone.
“Yes,” she said, almost sharply. “And my brother has told me that Dylar thought I might wish to go. He spoke to you and you spoke to the prince. Ion will go.”
“Ion feared to grieve you,” Tacita said, surprised at this sudden address.
“Dylar also had spoken to me of it,” Iona continued, her brows lowering. “He thought that I might like to go awhile with Ion. Why did he think so? I have never spoken of these plans to him. I waited for other conditions to arrange themselves. Why should the idea of my going out occur to him?”
“I do not know,” said Tacita, more and more astonished at the tone in which she was addressed. “He said nothing of it to me. Perhaps he has some important mission for you.”
“Why should he intrust a mission to me instead of Elena, or of going himself?” demanded Iona. “Can you think of any reason?”
“I do not know,” Tacita repeated, and her eyelids drooped.
There was a moment of silence, and it seemed to have thundered. Iona gazed with scrutinizing and flashing eyes into the downcast face before her, and seemed struggling to control herself. A shiver passed over her, and then she spoke calmly.
“I have not told you all my mind. The country I have planned must have a dynasty, not a luxurious one secluded from the people, but one as simple and law-abiding as that which rules us here. But who will succeed Dylar? While I planned, that became the difficult question to answer. He has no child, and seemed vowed to celibacy. I thought of Ion. He alone, outside the prince’s blood, might be said to have a certain prestige, though he has no claim. Ion has force, and, when he shall have been tried in the alembic, will have a fine character. He has courage, magnetism, and enthusiasm. It seemed certain that Dylar would never marry; and I approved of his apparent resolution and imitated it. It seemed fitting that the two highest in San Salvador should give an example of exceptional lives devoted to its cause. I had, moreover, a sort of contempt for that maternity which we share with the beasts, reptiles, and insects. I almost believed that common people only should have children and superior people mould and educate them. In that frame of mind I had that foolish portrait painted.