“Aha!” she murmured. “You are afraid I might utter his name, and that it might be an ill-omen. So you think of him very often, pretty maid?”
The young girl bent her head with a bewitching air of embarrassment.
“Then it is true,” Ninus persisted, “you often think of him?”
“Always,” was the reply.
Hipyllos could have hugged the sorceress for that one word.
“Girl,” said Ninus suddenly, “is your mind devout and your body pure?”
“Before coming here I prayed to the gods and anointed myself.”
Ninus was silent for a time, then going close to the muffled form she asked in a whisper:
“Have you ever heard of stones animated with souls, which have fallen from the skies? We call them baetyli, but among your people they are known by the name of orites or siderites.”
“I know nothing about them,” replied the young girl, then seizing the priestess’ hand with an enquiring gesture she murmured: “Tell me, what do these baetyli give?”