Lyrcus came to meet the returning band.
He had just finished his task of forging and, after standing in the heat and smoke, it was doubly pleasant to breathe the cool sea-breeze. He had never felt more joyous and light-hearted.
“How silent you are!” he called as he advanced. “Have the women lost their voices? By Pan, that would be the greatest of miracles.”
But when he came nearer, seeing their troubled faces, he himself became grave, and with the speed of lightning his glance sought Byssa.
The men, one by one, slunk behind the women.
“Where is Byssa?” said Lyrcus.
No one answered.
He now put the same question to a very young girl, who chanced to be the same one who had rushed from the fountain to meet the men and brought the ill-omened message.
Startled by the unexpected query, she turned pale and vainly tried to answer; her throat seemed choked.
Lyrcus seized her firmly by the arm.