"Why dost thou speak so, my Soul?" Clearchus asked in alarm. "What has happened? Surely we shall be married at the new moon."
"I do not know, Clearchus—all that I know is that I love thee and shall love thee always. A warning from the Gods has been sent to me."
She lifted her face and clasped her hands in her lap. Her eyes were wet and her lips were tremulous as those of a helpless child who awaits a blow.
"What was it, my Life?" Clearchus asked gently.
"I was in a strange house," she replied, looking straight before her as though she could see the things that she described. "It was a house of many rooms, some filled with lights and some so dark I could not tell what was in them. I heard the sound of voices, of laughter, and of weeping, but I could see nobody. Thou wert there, I knew, and I was seeking thee with my heart full of terror; for something told me I would not find thee. It was dreadful—dreadful, Clearchus!"
She paused and clung to him for a moment as though in fear of being torn from his side.
"I do not know how long I wandered through passages and chambers," she resumed, "but at last I reached a corridor that had rows of pillars on either side. At the end was a crimson curtain, beyond which men and women were talking. As I stood hesitating in the empty corridor, suddenly I heard thy voice among the rest. I could not mistake it, Clearchus. Joy filled my heart. Thou didst not know I was there nor what peril I was in. I felt that I had but to lift the curtain—thou wouldst see me and I would be saved. I ran forward, crying out to thee; but before I reached the curtain, rough men came from between the pillars and thrust me back, drowning my voice with shouting and laughter. I threw myself on my knees before them and prayed them not to stop me. They answered in words that I could not understand. My heart was breaking, Clearchus! The light beyond the crimson curtain grew dim, and outside I could hear a roaring like a great storm. The pillars were shaken and the walls crumbled, and I woke crying thy name."
The young man's face had grown unusually grave and thoughtful as he listened to the recital of the dream. No man or woman of his time who believed in anything ever thought of doubting that the visions of sleep were divine communications to mortals. Statesmen directed the course of nations and generals planned their campaigns in accordance with the interpretation of these revelations.
"What does it mean, Clearchus? You are wiser than I," Artemisia said anxiously. "If I am separated from thee, I shall die."
"The men who halted you seemed to be barbarians?" Clearchus asked thoughtfully.