“What are you doing here?” asked the door-keeper of the women’s apartment; for it was he who had hurried in.
Meantime Doris had found the lock and put the key in it.
“Oh, pshaw!” she replied, as though vexed by so much disturbance, “I’m going to pour out the bath-water. In the dark I ran against a tripod—it fell, and so they screamed as if they were possessed by some evil demon.”
With these words she opened the door, pushed Clytie out, and followed herself.
The fugitives now found themselves in the garden. Here the darkness was not too great to permit them to distinguish without difficulty the paths winding between the black masses of the shrubs and trees. A damp wind blew into their faces and the odor of the flowers was oppressively strong; they heard a rustling among the leaves, like the sound of dice dropping on a copper shield, and big drops fell singly.
After the anxiety she had experienced Clytie felt unspeakable relief. It seemed as if she inhaled liberty with every breath of the night air, and she thought with a touch of joyful dread of meeting Hipyllos. Doris was still absorbed by the remembrance of the nocturnal disturbance in the house, but consoled herself by thinking that the door-keeper would explain everything.
Outside the garden gate stood two dark figures. One wore his hair cut short—so he was a slave; the other had long locks, and though both appeared like dim black outlines Clytie instantly recognized Hipyllos by the stately way in which his mantle was draped about him—in itself sufficient to mark the young Eupatride.
Clytie’s heart beat faster, and she suddenly trembled in every limb as she had done the evening she stole out to meet the priestess of Sabazius. She had scarcely stepped outside of the garden, when Hipyllos hurried towards her.
“I thank you,” he said, “blessings on you for coming.”
The young girl made no reply; she was far too much agitated and confused to be able to utter a single word.