e maiden regarded him with a look of the deepest astonishment.

"Surely," she said, "thy gift has been bestowed upon thee to little
purpose. Say not, at least, that thou usest the speech of the Gods to
blaspheme them. Thou art surely yet a votary of Zeus?"

"I a votary of Zeus!" exclaimed the stranger. "By these fetters, no!" And,
weak as he was, the forest rang with his disdainful laughter.

"Farewell," said the maiden, as with dilating form and kindling eye she
gathered up her robes. "I parley with thee no more. Thou art tenfold more
detestable than the howling mob down yonder, intent on rapine and
destruction. They know no better, and can no other. But thou, apt in
speaking the sacred tongue yet brutally ignorant of its treasures, knowing
the father of the Gods only to revile him! Let me pass."

The stranger, if willing to hinder her, seemed little able. His eyes
closed, his limbs relaxed, and without a cry he sank senseless on the
sward.

In an instant the maiden was kneeling by his side. Hastily undoing a basket
she carried on her arm, she drew forth a leather flask, and, supporting
the sunken head with one hand, poured a stream of wine through the lips
with the other. As the gurgling purple coursed down his throat the sufferer
opened his eyes, and thanked her silently with a smile of exquisite
sweetness. Removing the large leaves which shaded the contents of the
basket, she disclosed ripe figs and pomegranates, honeycomb and snow-white
curd, lying close to each other in tempting array. The stranger took of
each alternately, and the basket was well-nigh emptied ere his appetite
seemed assuaged.

The observant maiden, meanwhile, felt her mood strangely altered.

"So have I imaged Ulysses to myself," she thought as she gazed on the
stranger's goodly form, full of vigour, though not without traces of age,
the massive brow, the kindly mouth, the expression of far-seeing wisdom.
"Such a man ignorant of letters, and a contemner of Zeus!"

The stranger's eloquent thanks roused her from a reverie. The Greek tongue
fell upon her ear like the sweetest music, and she grieved when its flow
was interrupted by a question addressed directly to herself.

"Can a God feel hunger and thirst?"

"Surely no," she rejoined.

"I should have said the same yesterday," returned the stranger.

"Wherefore not to-day?"

"Dear maiden," responded he, with winning voice and manner, "we must know
each other better ere my tale can gain