had made for the admiration of
men, his evident vexation upon her refusal to appear in Greek costume at
the sacrifices and public solemnities, his unsparing raillery at what he
termed her barbarian shyness, all tended to convince her that the young
Heracleid had sought to admit some one into those mysteries which should
remain secret to all, for without his encouragement no man could have
dared to risk himself in an undertaking the discovery of which would
have resulted in the punishment of a speedy death.

How slowly did the black hours seem to her to pass! How anxiously did
she await the coming of dawn to mingle its bluish tints with the yellow
gleams of the almost exhausted lamp! It seemed to her that Apollo
would never mount his chariot again, and that some invisible hand was
sustaining the sand of the hourglass in air. Though brief as any other,
that night seemed to her like the Cimmerian nights, six long months of
darkness.

While it lasted she lay motionless and rigid at full length on the very
edge of her couch in dread of being touched by Candaules. If she had not
up to that night felt a very strong love for the son of Myrsus, she had,
at least, ever exhibited toward him that grave and serene tenderness
which every virtuous woman entertains for her husband, although the
altogether Greek freedom of his morals frequently displeased her,
and though he entertained ideas at variance with her own in regard to
modesty; but after such an affront she could only feel the chilliest
hatred and most icy contempt for him; she would have preferred even
death to one of his caresses. Such an outrage it was impossible to
forgive, for among the barbarians, and above all among the Persians and
Bactrians, it was held a great disgrace, not for women only, but even
for men, to be seen without their garments.

At length Candaules arose, and Nyssia, awaking from her simulated sleep,
hurried from that chamber now profaned in her eyes as though it had
served for the nocturnal orgies of Bacchantes and courtesans. It was
agony for her to breathe that impure air any longer, and that she
might freely give herself up to her grief she took refuge in the upper
apartments reserved for the women, summoned her slaves by clapping her
hands, and poured ewers of water over her shoulders, her bosom, and
her whole body, as though hoping by this species of lustral ablution
to efface the soil imprinted by the eyes of Gyges. She would have
voluntarily