med up at her, "you have
not to avenge your father now. You have a better, greater task, to be as
fair in body and still more in mind as he."

Then came the rush of tears, the sobbing, the laughter, and Lysistra and
Cleopis, who feared the shock of too much joy, were glad.

The _Nausicaae_ bore them to Peiraeus. The harbour towns were in black
ruins, for Mardonius had wasted everything before retiring to Boeotia for
his last battle. In Athens, as they entered it, the houses were roofless,
the streets scattered with rubbish. But Hermione did not think of these
things. The Agora at last,--the porticos were only shattered, fire-scarred
pillars,--and everywhere were tents and booths and bustle,--the brisk
Athenians wasting no time in lamentation, but busy rebuilding and making
good the loss. Above Hermione's head rose a few blackened columns,--all
that was left of the holy house of Athena,--but the crystalline air and the
red Rock of the Acropolis no Persian had been able to take away.

And even as Hermione crossed the Agora she heard a shouting, a word
running from lip to lip as a wave leaps over the sea.

In the centre of the buzzing mart she stopped. All the blood sprang to her
face, then left it. She passed her fingers over her hair, and waited with
twitching, upturned face. Through the hucksters' booths, amid the
clamouring buyers and sellers, went a runner, striking left and right with
his staff, for the people were packing close, and he had much ado to clear
the way. Horsemen next, prancing chargers, the prizes from the Barbarian,
and after them a litter. Noble youths bore it, sons of the Eupatrid houses
of Athens. At sight of the litter the buzz of the Agora became a roar.

"The beautiful! The fortunate! The deliverer! _Io! Io, paean!_"

Hermione stood; only her eyes followed the litter. Its curtains were flung
back; she saw some one within, lying on purple cushions. She saw the
features, beautiful as Pentelic marble and as pale. She cared not for the
people. She cared not that Phoenix, frighted by the shouting, had begun to
wail. The statue in the litter moved, rose on one elbow.

"Ah, dearest and best,"--his voice had the old-time ring, his head the
old-time poise,--"you need not fear to call me husband now!"

"Glaucon," she cried. "I am not fit to be your wife. I am not fit to kiss
your feet."

* * * * * * *

They set the litter down. Even little Simonides, though a king amo