“The goddess is surfeited with sacrifices this morning. She would forget mine.”
Then he led the rest, elbowing the way through the increasing swarms of young and old, and down into the half-deserted city. Democrates left them in the Agora, professing great stress of duties.
“Strange man,” observed Cimon, as he walked away; “what has he this past month upon his mind? That Persian spy, I warrant. But the morning wanes. It’s a long way to Colonus. ‘Let us drink, for the sun is in the zenith.’ So says Alcæus—and I love the poet, for he like myself is always thirsty.”
The three went on to the knoll of Colonus where Glaucon dwelt. Cimon was overrunning with puns and jests, but the others not very merry. The omen of Glaucon’s thoughtlessness, or something else, made husband and wife silent, yet it was a day when man or maid should have felt their spirits rise. The sky had never been brighter, not in Athens. Never had the mountains and sea spread more gloriously. From the warm olive-groves sounded the blithesome note of the Attic grasshopper. The wind sweeping over the dark cypresses by the house set their dark leaves to talking. The afternoon passed in pleasure, friends going and coming; there was laughter, music, and good stories. Hermione at least recovered part of her brightness, but her husband, contrary to all custom, remained taciturn, even melancholy. At last as the gentle tints of evening began to cover hill and plain and the red-tiled roofs of the ample city, all the friends were gone, saving only Cimon, and he—reckless fellow—[pg 126]was well able to dispense with companionship, being, in the words of Theognis, “not absolutely drunk, nor sober quite.” Thus husband and wife found themselves alone together on the marble bench beneath the old cypress.
“Oh, makaire! dearest and best,” asked Hermione, her hands touching his face, “is it the omen that makes you grow so sad? For the sun of your life is so seldom under clouds that when it is clouded at all, it seems as deep darkness.”
He answered by pressing back her hair, “No, not the omen. I am not a slave to chance like that. Yet to-day,—the wise God knows wherefore,—there comes a sense of brooding fear. I have been too happy—too blessed with friendship, triumph, love. It cannot last. Clotho the Spinner will weary of making my thread of gold and twine in a darker stuff. Everything lovely must pass. What said Glaucus to Diomedes? ‘Even as the race of leaves, so likewise are those of men; the leaves that now are, the wind scattereth, and the forest buddeth forth more again; thus also with the race of men, one putteth forth, another ceaseth.’ So even my joy must pass—”
“Glaucon,—take back the words. You frighten me.”
He felt her in his arms trembling, and cursed himself for what he had uttered.
“A blight upon my tongue! I have frightened you, and without cause. Surely the day is bright enough, surely Athena having been thus far good we can trust her goodness still. Who knows but that it be many a year before our sun comes to his setting!”
He kissed her many times. She grew comforted, but they had not been together long when they were surprised by the approach of Themistocles and Hermippus. Hermione ran to her father.