The voice which echoed in clear, musical tones on the stillness of evening made Hipyllos’ heart throb. He had never heard Clytie speak, but it seemed to him that she must speak thus.
“Have no fear, pretty maid,” said Ninus in a singularly deep voice with a foreign accent. “Let Doris run back and keep watch. Then you can be called at once.”
“Yes, dear Doris, run, run!”
The slave lingered, but was obliged to obey.
Hearing the name of Doris strengthened Hipyllos in the belief that Clytie stood before him, for the slave through whom he had learned from Manodoros that her mistress loved him was called Doris.
“Make haste, good Ninus,” said the veiled figure when she was left alone with the priestess. “I am trembling with fright.”
“Give me time,” muttered Ninus. “Do you suppose the gods can be invoked as we draw water or chop wood? It would be a pity,” she added, pointing to the numerous articles on the table, “if all this should have been done in vain. I was obliged to bargain with and bribe slaves. How else could I get a man’s shoe or the fringe from his upper garment? But to bargain and bribe....”
Ninus paused, casting a side-glance at the young girl, who remained silent. The priestess saw that she must speak more plainly.
“But to bribe,” she added, “requires money, a great deal of money.”
“I haven’t any; I’ve never had money.”