e new
temple that is building to Olympian Zeus. It is the new house of yellow
sandstone, three stories in height, with the carved balconies and
wrought brazen doors. Pantheia is her name. I lead the way.

_Empedocles_

The streets are full to-day and dazzling with color. So many carpets
hang from the windows, and so many banners are flying! So many
white-horsed chariots, and such concourses of dark slaves from every
land in the long African crescent of the midland sea, from the pillars
of Hercules to ferocious Carthage and beyond to the confines of Egypt
and Phoenicia! Ah, I remember now! It is a gala day--the expected
visit of Pindar. I am to dine with him to-morrow at the Trireme. We
moderns are doing more to celebrate his coming than our fathers did
for AEschylus when he was here. I was very young then, but I remember
running with the other boys after him just to touch his soft gown and
look into his noble face.

_Akron_

I have several rolls of his plays, that I keep with some new papyri of
Pindar arrived by the last galley from Corinth, in the iron chest inside
my office door, along with some less worthy bags of gold of Tarshish and
coinage of Athens, Sybaris, Panormos, and Syracuse. Ah, here is the
door! It is ajar, and if you will go into the courtyard by the fountain
and seat yourself under the palm-trees and azaleas on yon bench, by the
statue of the nymph, I will go up to announce your coming.

_Empedocles_

All is still save for the far, faint step of Akron on the stair, and the
still fainter murmur from the streets. The very goldfish in the fountain
do not stir, and the long line of slaves against the marble wall, save
for their branded foreheads, might be gaunt caryatides hewn in Egyptian
wood or carved in ebony and amber. That gaudy tropic bird scarce ruffles
a feather. What is the difference between life and death? A voice, a
call, some sudden strange or familiar message on old paths, to the
consciousness that lies under that apparent unconsciousness, will waken
all these semblances of inanimation into new life of arms and fins and
wings. Let me try her thus! My grandfather was a pupil of Pythagoras
who had seen many such death-semblances among the peoples of the white
sacred mountains of far India. Ha! Akron beckons. I must follow him.

_Akron_

Enter yon doorway where the white figure lies resplendent with jewels
that gleam in the morning sun.

_Empedocles_

The arm drawn downward by the h