“Ah, my son, thou hast told us the same secret that caused thy death! O Hera! we are as guilty as the dead lad! Not a word to any one of what thou hast read! Where is Psyche?”
“She is with Gyges.”
“Oh, what a sad home-coming for the dear child! But tell her not of the writing, my Hera! Let that knowledge be forever sealed in thy memory.”
Greatly excited and impressed by the writing on Gannon’s tunic, Alcmaeon stationed himself again by the body of his murdered son. Hera took the tunic and began to tear away the cloth that bore Gannon’s message. Suddenly they heard the tramping of feet outside the door. They were startled when the door was thrust open and an officer of the Praetorians entered and said, “The inhabitants of this house are under arrest.”
Not having finished detaching the message, Hera dropped the tunic and ran to Alcmaeon, who rose, exclaiming, “Ye gods! What have we done?”
“A soldier never questions his orders. There is a daughter; where is she?” demanded the officer.
“She will be home at sundown,” replied Alcmaeon. “But what does this mean?”
“It means that thou and thy wife must immediately go with me to the Praetorian Camp,” replied the officer, in a rough tone.
“But the body of my dead son is unburied! How long shall we be detained?” asked Alcmaeon, pitifully.
“I have orders to care for Gannon’s body,” said the officer. “You must leave at once.”