turn to the right. In front of you you'll see a hall with a wooden roof
and red walls. The 'Victory' is there. But don't stay there. Go into the
small room beyond, the last room, and you mustn't let the guardian go
with you."

From behind came the sound of the big door being opened.

"Then that is the secret, and I knew about it all the time!"

"Knew about it--yes."

She looked down on the green cup surrounded by hills, with its little
river where now two half-naked men were dragging with a hand-net for
fish. Again the tiny breath from the far-away wind stirred in the pine
trees, evoking soft sounds of Eternity. She turned away and went into
the Museum.

Left alone, Dion lifted the lunch-pannier from his shoulder and laid it
down on the ground. Then he sat down under one of the pine trees. A wild
olive grew very near it. He thought of the crown of wild olive which the
victors received in days when the valley resounded with voices and the
trampling of the feet of horses. He took off his hat and laid it beside
him on the ground by the lunch-pannier. One of the men in the river
cried out to his companion. Sheep-bells sounded softly down the valley.
Some peasants went by with a small train of donkeys on a path which
wound away at the foot of the hill of Kronos.

Dion was being unselfish. In staying where he was, beyond the outer
door of the house of Hermes, he was taking the first firm step on a path
which might lead him on very far. He had slept in the dawn when Rosamund
slipped out of the tent, but till the stars waned he had been awake, and
in the white light of the moon he had seen the beginning of the path.
Men were said to be selfish. People, especially women, often talked
as if selfishness were bred in the very fiber of men, as if it were
ineradicable, and must be accepted by women. He meant to prove to one
woman that even a man could be unselfish, moved by something greater
than himself. Up there on Drouva he had definitely dedicated himself
to Rosamund. His acute pain when, coming back to the place where he
had left her by the tent before sunset, he had not found her, his
sense almost of smoldering anger, had startled him. In the night he had
thought things over, and then he had come to the beginning of the path.
A really great love, if it is to be worthy to carry the torch, must
tread in the way of unselfishness. He would conform to the needs,
doubtless imperious, of Rosamund's nature, even when they confli