o ardently strive to accomplish, a
subject so exactly adapted to your magnificent virile genius and so
strangely suited to the course which your art has once entered upon. And
you can not fail to secure the right model. You had not found it in
Althea, no, certainly not! O Hermon! if I could only make you see clearly
how ill suited she, in whom everything is false, is to you--your art,
your only too powerful strength, your aspiration after truth--"

"You hate her," he broke in here in a repellent tone; but Daphne dropped
her quiet composure, and her gray eyes, usually so gentle, flashed
fiercely as she exclaimed: "Yes, and again yes! From my inmost soul I do,
and I rejoice in it. I have long disliked her, but since yesterday I
abhor her like the spider which she can simulate, like snakes and toads,
falsehood and vice."

Hermon had never seen his uncle's peaceful daughter in this mood. The
emotions that rendered this kindly soul so unlike itself could only be
the one powerful couple, love and jealousy; and while gazing intently at
her face, which in this moment seemed to him as beautiful as Dallas
Athene armed for battle, he listened breathlessly as she continued:
"Already the murderous spider had half entangled you in her net. She drew
you out into the tempest--our steward Gras saw it--in order, while Zeus
was raging, to deliver you to the wrath of the other gods also and the
contempt of all good men; for whoever yields himself to her she destroys,
sucks the marrow from his bones like the greedy harpies, and all that is
noble from his soul."

"Why, Daphne," interrupted Chrysilla, raising herself from her cushions
in alarm, "must I remind you of the moderation which distinguishes the
Greeks from the barbarians, and especially the Hellenic woman--"

Here Daphne indignantly broke in: "Whoever practises moderation in the
conflict against vice has already gone halfway over to evil. She utterly
ruined--how long ago is it?--the unfortunate Menander, my poor Ismene's
young husband. You know them both, Hermon. Here, of course, you scarcely
heard how she lured him from his wife and the lovely little girl who
bears my name. She tempted the poor fellow to her ship, only to cast him
off at the end of a month for another. Now he is at home again, but he
thinks Ismene is the statue from the Temple of Isis, which has gained
life and speech; for he has lost his mind, and when I saw him I felt as
if I should die of horror and pity. Now