“Let his footsteps circle around this maiden’s dwelling, as this wheel turns on its axle. Direct his steps hither, lofty goddess,” continued Ninus, throwing a powder upon the charcoal. “Appear, oh Hipyllos, appear!” she called loudly. A clear yellow flame shot high into the air and vanished with a faint crackling sound, like a flash of lightning.
By the glow the young girl had seen Hipyllos’ face appear and disappear like a vision in a dream—a wall seemed to open and close over it. Terror and surprise made her utter a piercing shriek. Ninus fancied herself watched and blew out the light.
While Hipyllos, dazzled by the blaze, was groping his way around the corner of the wall he heard the dry twigs snapping under hurried footsteps. It was the two women, who were stealing away through the other end of the long arbor. He wanted to follow them, but ran into the arms of the armorer’s slave who was looking for him to say that his master had come. Almost at the same moment the door of Xenocles’ house closed with a bang, rendering farther pursuit useless.
He followed the slave into the shop. Sauros deserved credit for his work; the cuirass fitted admirably. But Hipyllos did not hear the smith’s long explanations; his sole desire was to be alone with his thoughts. So, when the fitting was over, he hastily took his leave, called his slave, told him to light a torch and set out on his homeward way. His disappointment at pretty Clytie’s escape had already vanished; nay even his anxiety about the trouble threatening her was forced to yield to the blissful thought of being beloved by the fairest maiden in Athens. He knew that now from her own lips—for it did not occur to him to doubt that the muffled figure was Clytie herself.
XIII.
The following day Hipyllos returned from the race-course shortly after noon and flung himself upon a couch; but his blood was too keenly stirred for him to find immediate repose. He still saw and heard only the chariot-races. A long, long course, marble benches filled with passionately excited spectators, slanting rows of chariot sheds, falling barricades, horses dashing forward four abreast, clouds of dust, clapping of hands, and shouts of: “Speude, speude!” (haste) and: “Aristeue!” (keep ahead)—all this had gone to his head like intoxication. Gradually his excitement died away into a pleasant lassitude, and at the same time his thoughts wandered to the conjuration the day before in Sauros’ garden. Again he heard the priestess of Sabazius say: “You think of him very often, pretty maid?” and recalled the bewitching movement with which the young girl had bent her head and whispered the one word: “Always!” that had almost made him betray himself in his delight. He had reached this point in his love-dream, when the door-keeper entered.
“A young slave-girl wants to speak to you,” he said. “She has a letter from her mistress.”
Hipyllos started from the couch.
“Bring her in—quick.”
He understood two things—that some misfortune must really have befallen Clytie, and that what Doris had advised and the baetylus confirmed was—to write to him.