'Thou thyself, from her begotten, standest first amongst all women. She, thy mother, princess, priestess, died uncared for, unbeloved—died a rebel to our goddess, worshipping the Jewish Christ—name we scarcely dare to mention.'
Saronia beckoned them away, and when they had fled a tremor seized her; she staggered to a seat, muttering:
'I, also, am a rebel, and worship Eros.'
Starting to her feet, she said:
'Who is this Christ?'
Stretching her arms out into the darkness, she cried:
'Saronia, Saronia, the Saronide, where art thou—my mother who bore me? Let me touch thy hand! Speak to me—to me!'
But she grasped the empty space; not even the echo of a whisper fell. Then she cried again:
'Thou art beyond my plane, or thou wouldst come to me. Thou art greater than I. Hear me, ye spirits of the air! Listen, spirits of lands and seas! Hearken, ye spirits of Elysium and Hades! Here in the darkness, here in the womb of night, here near the birth of the early dawn, here with a soul storm-tossed and driven, I swear I will find her. Her God shall be mine, and where she riseth I will follow. O light, O truth, O love, let me climb your ladders of gold!'
The dawn appeared in the east, breaking the gray on the ocean's rim, and the birds sang forth from the trees in the Sacred Grove.