“I know not, O Merope—but look at the beautiful mountains. Oh, would that the spirit which dwells in those lofty heights and that which has seen history blossom and die, would speak to doubting and tormented hearts!”
“Rather, would that life would always be as gentle as this sea,” she slowly said. “But how long shall we be at Athens?”
“When the estates are sold, we shall go to Crete. In a few days my family sail for that historic island. But come, let us try to throw off our sadness. Those laughing eyes must be as bright as the sky and not dimmed with tears. At Athens we will drink of new wine and be happy in forgetting the world. Wilt thou not be glad to see Athens?”
“Ay; we shall see pure Greeks there.”
“Ay; we shall see some Greek dancers.”
“Dost thou remember Psyche, O Sabinus?”
“The little Greek dancer at Pompey’s Theatre? Ay, that do I.”
“I have often wondered what she did to be arrested?”
“Is she not yet free?”
“Nay; Elea and I walked to her home some time since. We found the door broken open and the house bare of everything.”