The young man felt a shiver run through his limbs at hearing his name so suddenly.
Ninus glanced around. This was the moment when the person summoned, drawn by an invincible power, ought to appear and fall at his loved one’s feet.
The priestess shrugged her shoulders.
“Hm!” she muttered, as though baffled. “Your fear was not groundless, pretty maid. Take this vessel I use in pouring libations and wrap the purple wool around it, put these laurel branches on the flames, hold the wax near them, and set the dish beneath.”
At the same time Ninus raised aloft a tri-colored wax image and flung fragrant boughs upon the fire before it.
“Hear me, most terrible of goddesses, mysterious Hecate!” she cried, “mercifully aid us and make our spells more powerful than those of Medea and Circe. Let his blood burn as these laurel leaves are consumed in the flame, and his heart bleed and melt with tenderness for this maiden as this wax melts from the heat.”
Ninus started and listened.
The baying of a dog was heard in the stillness of the night.
“Hush!” she muttered. “I hear dogs barking. Hecate is near—in the cross-road yonder, where her altar stands. Strike these metal basins against each other—let the sound tell her that we feel her approach. Oh, Hecate, stern, exalted goddess, I will pour three libations in thy honor! Thrice accursed be each new fancy of the man this maiden loves. Let him instantly desert her rivals, as Theseus deserted the hapless Ariadne.”
Then, seizing the wheel, she set it in motion.