Part 22 (2/2)
Milza's voice had been recognized the moment she began to sing; and she at once conjectured the object that led her thither. But when hour after hour pa.s.sed without any tidings from Pandaenus or Clinias, she was in a state of anxiety bordering on distraction; for she soon perceived sufficient indication that the smooth hypocrisy of Alcibiades was a.s.sumed but for a short period.
She had already determined on an effort to bribe the servants, when the steward came stealthily to her room, and offered to convey her to the Triton's Cove, provided she would promise to double the sum already offered by Geta. To this she eagerly a.s.sented, without even inquiring the amount; and he, fearful of detection, scarcely allowed time to throw Milza's robe and veil over her own.
Having thus far effected her escape, Eudora was extremely anxious that Pandaenus and Clinias should be informed of her place of retreat, as soon as the morning dawned. When Geta told her that Pandaenus had disappeared as suddenly as herself, and no one knew whither, she replied, ”This, too, is the work of Alcibiades.”
Their whispered conversation was stopped by the barking of a dog, to which the echoes of the cavern gave a frightful appearance of nearness.
Each instinctively touched the other's arm, as a signal for silence.
When all was again quiet, Geta whispered, ”It is well for us they were not witty enough to bring Hylax with them; for the poor fellow would certainly have betrayed us.” This circ.u.mstance warned them of the danger of listeners, and few more words were spoken.
The maiden, completely exhausted by the exertions she had made, laid her head on the shoulder of her attendant, and slept until the morning twilight became perceptible through the crevices of the rocks.
At the first approach of day, she implored Geta to hasten to the house of Clinias, and ask his protection: for she feared to venture herself abroad, without the presence of some one whose rank and influence would be respected by Alcibiades.
”Before I go,” replied Geta, ”let me find a secure hiding-place for you; for though I shall soon return, in the meantime those may enter whose presence may be dangerous.”
”You forget that this is a sacred place,” rejoined Eudora, in tones that betrayed fear struggling with her confidence.
”There are men, with whom nothing is sacred,” answered Geta; ”and many such are now in Athens.”
The cavern was deep, and wide. As they pa.s.sed along, the dawning light indistinctly revealed statues of Phoebus and Pan, with altars of pure white marble. At the farthest extremity, stood a trophy of s.h.i.+elds, helmets, and spears, placed there by Miltiades, in commemoration of his victory at Marathon. It was so formed as to be hollow in the centre, and Geta proposed that the timid maiden should creep in at the side, and stand upright. She did so, and it proved an effectual screen from head to foot. Having taken this prudent precaution, the faithful attendant departed, with a promise to return as soon as possible. But hour after hour elapsed, and he came not. As Eudora peeped through the c.h.i.n.ks of the trophy, she perceived from the entrance of the cave glowing streaks of light, that indicated approaching noon. Yet all remained still, save the echoed din of noises in the city; and no one came to her relief.
Not long after the sun had begun to decline from its meridian, two men entered, whom she recognized as among the individuals that had seized and conveyed her to Salamis. As they looked carefully all around the cave, Eudora held her breath, and her heart throbbed violently.
Perceiving no one, they knelt for a moment before the altars, and hastily retreated, with indications of fear; for the accusations of guilty minds were added to the usual terrors of this subterranean abode of the G.o.ds.
The day was fading into twilight, when a feeble old man came, with a garland on his head, and invoked the blessing of Phoebus. He was accompanied by a boy, who laid his offering of flowers and fruit on the altar of Pan, with an expression of countenance that showed how much he was alarmed by the presence of that fear-inspiring deity.
After they had withdrawn, no other footsteps approached the sacred place. Anxiety of mind, and bodily weariness, more than once tempted Eudora to go out and mingle with the throng continually pa.s.sing through the city. But the idea that Geta might arrive, and be perplexed by her absence, combined with the fear of lurking spies, kept her motionless, until the obscurity of the grotto gave indication that the shadows of twilight were deepening.
During the day, she had observed near the trophy a heap of withered laurel branches and wreaths, with which the altar and statue of Phoebus had been at various times adorned. Overcome with fatigue, and desirous to change a position, which from its uniformity had become extremely painful, she resolved to lie down upon the rugged rock, with the sacred garlands for a pillow. She shuddered to remember the lizards and other reptiles she had seen crawling, through the day; but the universal fear of entering Creusa's grotto after nightfall, promised safety from human intrusion; and the desolate maiden laid herself down to repose, in such a state of mind that she would have welcomed a poisonous reptile, if it brought the slumbers of death. It seemed to her that she was utterly solitary and friendless; persecuted by men, and forsaken by the G.o.ds.
By degrees, all sounds died away, save the melancholy hooting of owls, mingled occasionally with the distant barking and howling of dogs.
Alone, in stillness and total darkness, memory revealed herself with wonderful power. The scenes of her childhood; the chamber in which she had slept; figures she had embroidered and forgotten; tunes that had been silent for years; thoughts and feelings long buried; Philaemon's smile; the serene countenance of Philothea; the death-bed of Phidias; and a thousand other images of the past, came before her with all the vividness of present reality. Exhausted in mind and body, she could not long endure this tide of recollection. Covering her face with her hands, she sobbed convulsively, as she murmured, ”Oh, Philothea! why didst thou leave me? My guide, my only friend! oh, where art thou!”
A gentle strain of music, scarcely audible, seemed to make reply. Eudora raised her head to listen--and lo! the whole grotto was filled with light; so brilliant that every feather in the arrow of Phoebus might be counted, and the gilded horns and star of Pan were radiant as the sun.
Her first thought was that she had slept until noon. She rubbed her eyes, and glanced at the pedestal of a statue, on which she distinctly read the inscription: ”Here Miltiades placed me, Pan, the goat-footed G.o.d of Arcadia, who warred with the Athenians against the Medes.”
Frightened at the possibility of having overslept herself, she started up, and was about to seek the shelter of the trophy, when Paralus and Philothea stood before her! They were clothed in bright garments, with garlands on their heads. His arm was about her waist, and hers rested on his shoulder. There was a holy beauty in their smile, from which a protecting influence seemed to emanate, that banished mortal fear.
In sweet, low tones, they both said, as if with one voice, ”Seek Artaphernes, the Persian.”
”Dearest Philothea, I scarcely know his countenance,” replied the maiden.
Again the bright vision repeated, ”Seek Artaphernes, nothing doubting.”
The sounds ceased; the light began to fade; it grew more and more dim, till all was total darkness. For a long time, Eudora remained intensely wakeful, but inspired with a new feeling of confidence and hope, that rendered her oblivious of all earthly cares. Whence it came, she neither knew nor asked; for such states preclude all inquiry concerning their own nature and origin.
After awhile, she fell into a tranquil slumber, in which she dreamed of torrents crossed in safety, and of rugged, th.o.r.n.y paths, that ended in blooming gardens. She was awakened by the sound of a troubled, timid voice, saying, ”Eudora! Eudora!”
She listened a moment, and answered, ”Is it you, Milza?”
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