All Greek now, pagan, beautiful, the girl's whole body was quivering with rage and grief. And I knew enough to hold my tongue.
While the fierce storm swept her, bending her like a sapling with gusts of passion, I stood silent, awaiting the rain of tears to end it.
None came to break the tension, though the gray eyes harbored lightning and her brow remained dark.
"As Naxos falls, so falls the world," she said. "The eyes of civilization are on her; the fateful writing runs like fire across God's heaven! Let the world heed what passes! The doom of Naxos is the doom of freedom and of man!"
I, personally, had scarcely looked at it in that light. It did not strike me that the hub of civilization rested on Naxos. Nor do I believe the world was under that impression. But I was not going to say so to this excited young Naxosienne—or Naxosoise—or Naxosette,—whichever may be the respectful and properly descriptive nomenclature.
And so, standing near the window, I watched the tempest wax, wane, and gradually pass, leaving her at last silent, seated on her couch, with one arm across her knee and her head bent like the "Resting Hermes."
When I walked over and stood looking down at her she reached out and, without looking, took my hand.
"It is your turn now, Michael; and I already know what question you mean to ask."
"Shall I ask it, Thusis?" After a silence her hand closed convulsively in mine.
"I do love you.... I am not—free—to marry you."