both to them and to ourselves."

Evadne knew that she herself must be counted among the rude and
ignorant; she dared not raise her eyes to the young noble, who watched
her quivering lip, and but dimly guessed how he had wounded her.

"Leave caressing the dead bird," he said, at last, "and I will tell you
tales of Rome and its glories."

And he charmed back again her innocent smiles, with noble traditions of
kings, of gods, and of heroes, till the round moon stood above Gargarus,
cold, in a rose-tinted heaven.

But again at sunrise the child sought the spot to bring a basket, heavy
with gifts, for Hylas. He came at the call of Evadne, fresh, glowing,
beautiful as a child rocked on the breast of Aurora, and upheld by her
cool, fanning wings. His cheek wore the kiss of the Sun, and his closely
curling locks were wet by the scattered fountain, cold in the shaded
grove. He broke the early silence of the air with song and story, and
named for the admiring child the towns, the headlands, and the hills,
over which the eye delighted to wander.

"Now is the hour," he said, "when mariners far away behold for a little
while the dome of this temple. They believe that the gods have rendered
it invisible except at the rising day; but, in truth, the oaks, the
laurels, and the unpruned ivy conceal it from view, at all times, except
when the rays from the east strike upward. I have delighted to teach the
people fables concerning this island and the lost temple; for as long as
they fear to tread upon this spot, I have a retreat for myself, where I
range unmolested.

"See yonder, so white among the dark cypress-trees, my father's villa!
It has gardens and shady groves, but I love best the wild branching oaks
which give their shade to Evadne! Far away in the purple distance stands
the Mount of Ida. There dwelt Paris, content with the love of Oenone,
until he knew himself to be the son of a king, for whom Argive Helen
alone was found worthy; for his eyes had rested once upon immortal
charms, of which the green eternal pines of Ida are still whispering the
story. See how the people of this village of Athos flock together! Some
festival occupies them. I see them going forth from the gates in
hurrying crowds; and now a band of men approaches. Some one is about to
enter their town, to whom they wish to do honor, and doubtless they bear
green branches to strew in the way. I know not what festival they
celebrate, for the altars are all deser