“Gone, and the light gone with her,

And left me in shadow here!”

Tennyson.

The god Hymen did not have charge of the ceremonies at the home of Pasicles: the goddess Mors officiated in his stead! Corinna was laid away in her eternal rest, and the house and garden that had often echoed the sound of her gay laughter were silent! Even the boy Mimnermus, tip-toed about in awful solitude, gravely impressed by this, his first experience with death.

Polygnotus was a daily visitor, whose calm dignity combined with his kindly sympathy, made him an ever welcome one. For Zopyrus he felt a genuine love which had but recently developed from his former fellowship and friendly regard. One an artist, the other a poet by natural inclination, they understood each other upon the ground of their common adoration for all that was beautiful and true and good whether represented by picture or by word.
195

One day, several weeks after the tragic occurrences at Naxos, Zopyrus happened to come upon the letter which his beloved friend, Aeschylus, had written him from Sicily, and it reminded him of the poet’s request that he visit his young son at Eleusis, so without further delay he set out mounted upon a richly caparisoned steed, lent him for the occasion by Cimon. As he passed through the Dipylon Gate he became aware for the first time that heavy storm clouds were rapidly gathering ahead of him, but having arrived thus far on his journey, he did not wish to return. The broad road that always stretched peacefully into the distance a winding silver band, was now hazy with whirling eddies of dust; and the usually tranquil branches of the olive trees on either side were bending and swaying under the force which Boreas exerted upon them.

The storm with all it fury did not burst upon him till he had passed the fountain of Kallichoros at which place he might have secured shelter. With his eyes on distant Eleusis he pressed on toward his goal gradually becoming unmindful of his soaking garments, and of the fact that a numbness was taking possession of his faculties.

Aeschylus had once described his home to Zopyrus as being the first abode west of the great temple, and Zopyrus gasped with delight as the classical outlines of a home typical of the upper-class citizen of Attica burst upon his sight. A high wall enclosing a garden space lay between the temple precinct and the home of the poet. As he entered the gate, a life-sized statue of the goddess Demeter, bearing in her arm a sheaf of corn stood at the edge of the garden to his right, and near by in marble stood the cheerful fun-loving figure of the faithful Iambe, who sought to alleviate her mistress’ sorrow. But that which caught his eye and held it was a fountain in the center of which was a most artistic composition representing the rape of Persephone. The faces chiselled in the cold marble were so like the faces of Ephialtes and Persephone that Zopyrus stood spellbound, unmindful of the fact that a slave was approaching him and bidding him enter, saying that his horse would be placed at once in the stable.
196

Zopyrus approached the door and found himself gazing into the half curious, half laughing face of a lad of sixteen, who said while he gripped Zopyrus’ arm heartily: “I know who you are, for father told me you were coming. But pray why did you choose such a day as this in which to pay a call?”

“I take it that you are Euphorion, the son of my most esteemed friend. I did not expect the storm to break so soon, or I should not have undertaken the trip.”

Euphorion surveyed his guest’s wet garments with disfavor.

“You must get into dry clothes,” he said. “You are shuddering now with the cold. Lycambes,” he called to a servant, “take this man to my father’s room and give him dry clothing.”

Zopyrus emerged from the upper chamber dry but not comfortable, for his head felt as though a fire burned in his brain, while his hands and feet were numb. Euphorion had disappeared and in his stead a young girl in white sat on the edge of the marble basin of a fountain, industriously engaged in a work of embroidery. She looked up as Zopyrus entered and the latter as his eyes rested on her, thought he must be suffering delirium, for it seemed he beheld Persephone!
197

Zopyrus moistened his lips and he cleared his throat so that his voice would be audible.

“Who are you and what are you doing here?” he asked scarcely above a whisper.

The girl laughed coyly and toyed for a moment with her piece of fancy-work while Zopyrus advanced toward her a step. Then she raised her blue eyes in whose depths Zopyrus read the same love-message that he h............