Myrtocleia took her in her arms, and both kept silence together.
The wind mingled their hair.
VII
CHRYSIS’S HAIR
“Look,” said Rhodis, “look! I see some one.”
The singing-girl looked. A woman, in the distance, was walking rapidly along the quay.
“I recognise her.” resumed the child.
“It is Chrysis. She is wearing her yellow robe.”
“What! is she dressed already?”
“I can’t understand it. Usually she does not go out before mid-day, and the sun is hardly up. Something must have happened to her: something fortunate no doubt: she is so lucky.”
They advanced to meet her, and said: