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THE FLOWER-GIRL OF SICYON

 

CHAPTER I

 

            COME hither, sweetheart, sit by my side, and listen to me, for I am going to tell you a story of things that happened long ago – very long ago, – far back in those grand days of Art, when Greece was rich in her teachers and schools, when the painters painted and the poets sang, and wise old Plato taught on the hill of Sunium.

 

            For in those golden times there was in the city of Sicyon, in Argolis, a famous school of painting, the first and most renowned in Greece; and thither were sent many youths of noble families, that they might learn the use of the cestrum, the exclusive privilege of the free-born.

 

            So, one fair spring day, somewhere about the year 385 B.C., the streets of Sicyon were all astir with people passing to and fro, and jostling one another as they went and came. For it was still early in the morning, and the merchants were on their way to their stores, and the housewives to the market, and the scholars to their academies. And among these last were three young men, of whom the youngest seemed scarcely more than twenty, – fellow-pupils in the school of the painter Pamphilus, who was then the greatest master of his art in all Southern Greece.

 

            These three were Apelles, Melanthius, and Pausias – men whose works have long, long ago made their names glorious in the history of grand old Greece. But they were young and unknown then, and people passed them by without notice, as you and I, sweetheart, are passed in the streets now. But who knows what you and I carry about with us in our hearts, and who can possibly divine what wonderful things we may some day do?

 

            And so it was then with these three painters, who years afterwards made all the world so ring with their praise that the echoes of it have not passed away yet; and never will, until men leave off loving art and science and all fair and beautiful things.

 

            Now as these three went on their way they talked as all scholars talk, – of their studies and of their master; and one told how he had been commended for his industry, and another boasted of his success and skill, or bantered his companions on their failures.

 

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            “Prithee tell me what you paint today, Melanthius;” cried the fair-haired Pausias, with a sidelong glance at his companion out of the corners of his mischievous blue eyes. “Are we to be favoured again with the sight of that woebegone Ariadne of yours, or may we hope Dionysius will come and fetch her away before nightfall? Methinks if the disconsolate maiden herself had waited half so long alone at Naxos as her effigy has waited in solitude upon your canvas, she had been dead before the wine-king found her.”

 

            “Indeed, I marvel much at your impertinence, Pausias,” responded Melanthius, laughing; “for methinks the jest might well be turned against you! Pray how much longer do you intend to dabble over that ill-fated head of Cytherea? Bah! I assure you the mere thought of the thing makes me quite faint! But, heyday! What have we here?” he added, with an air of surprise, and suddenly stopping himself and his companions: “the goddess in person, I believe! or perhaps I should rather say the ambrosial Chloris (1) herself, in the midst of her flowery kingdom!”

 

            For there stood beside them, just at the doors of the Sicyon academy, a young peasant-girl with fair hair and soft brown eyes, like heifers’ eyes to look at for their depth and tenderness, and across her shoulder was slung a wicker-basket filled with bunches of wild-flowers, and bright-coloured garlands.

 

            Very shyly she looked up into their merry faces, that fair flower-girl, and shyly she held out to them a cluster of while lilies, all heavy with drowsy dew.

 

            “What, you want to sell the ensigns of your royalty, Queen Chloris, do you?” Melanthius asked her smilingly, as he took the flowers she offered him; “well, then, I suppose we must all adorn our desirable persons with some of these most costly treasures. But what are those you wear in your dress, fair Chloris? I see no others like them in all your store.”

 

            “They are roses, sir,” she answered him timidly, “and I did not mean to sell them, but to keep them for my mother at home, because they are the first I have found this year, and my mother loves roses. And my name is not Chloris, but Glycera.”

 

            “It is a pretty name,” he said, “and well befits its owner, for she, methinks, seems as fair as the flowers she carries. But tell me, Glycera, if I may call you so, are you not a stranger in this town, for I do not remember to have seen you here before, and yours is a face not easily forgotten?”

 

            Then she answered him, blushing as she spoke, “I am no stranger in Sicyon, fair sir, for we have lived here all

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our lives – I and my mother; but this is the first day I have sold flowers in the streets. This morning I went out early into the woods, down by the banks of the river, to gather the wild amaracus, and the yellow-leaved lotus and asphodel. But these red roses I found far away in a glen between the hills, and I have only one bunch of them. But if you have a mind for flowers, here are wreaths of a thousand hues.”

 

            Then Apelles answered her, laughing, “Give me a bunch of your purple berries, Glycera; these many-coloured garlands befit not such grave students as we are. And you, Pausias, what say you?” he added, turning to the younger of his two companions, “are you for flowers or berries?”

 

            And Pausias said, “Flowers and berries are all sweet enough, but these red roses eclipse them all. Look, maiden, I will give you this silver coin if you will only spare me one of your roses.”

 

            Then she looked up quickly, and met his bright blue eyes fixed full upon her face, and there was so strange a look in them that her heart beat fast, and her eyelids drooped, and she dared not raise them again while she made reply: –

 

            “Fair sir, I will not sell the first-fruits of my glen for money. I f you love the roses, take them, they are yours,”

 

            And with that she plucked them from her bosom and put them into his hand, and turned and went on her way. But Pausias spoke no word.

 

NOTE

 

(58:1) The Grecian Flora.

 

 

 

CHAPTER II

 

            THE day was fast drawing to its close, and the crimson sun flared like a beacon of fire above the western hills. And out on the open plains beyond the town, a group of merry peasant youths and maidens had gathered to enjoy their evening sports.

 

            “Glycera! Glycera!” cried a dozen voices in musical chorus, “come quickly, we wait for you! Your basket is emptied, your day’s work is done; come and join us!”

 

            But the flower-girl only shook her head, and passed them by. “I cannot come tonight,” she said, “you must dance without me, for I am going home.”

 

            What ailed Glycera that evening, that she chose the lonely little footpath down by the river, far away out of the sound of the dance, and the merry voices of her companions? And when she reached her home, why did she leave her distaff and spindle all untouched, to sit alone by her chamber-lattice silent and saddened?

 

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            And what, too, all that day had ailed the youth Pausias, that he failed at his work, and spoiled his picture, and drew upon himself the eyes of all the pupils, and the censure of the stern Pamphilus? What ailed him, when school was over, and he went home at evening to his friends, that he joined in no jest and laughter as he had been wont to do; but sat apart from all the rest, as though he were in a dream?

 

            Ah, me! it was that old, old story, that has been told so many times over, ever since the beginning, and will be told again and again in thousand, thousand different lives, until the world shall be no more.

 

            For Pausias and Glycera loved one another.

 

 

 

CHAPTER III

 

            “PAUSIAS! Pausias! you will never be a painter!”

 

            And Pamphilus sighed as he spoke, for his youngest pupil was his own especial protégé, and the old master loved him well, and was not a little proud of his genius. But of late, day after day, the youth had failed in his studies, his compositions were lifeless and feeble, and his hand had lost its skill.

 

            Then when Pausias heard those sorrowful words, he pushed away his easel from him, and looked into his master’s face, while the tears grew thickly in his great blue eyes. And Pamphilus took him by the hand, and gazed at him some time in silence, and then he answered him again, –

 

            “Child, I spoke harshly to you, and in haste. I did you wrong, for your face is pale, and your lips white – you are ill, and must not work. Leave your painting, my son, and go out into the woods for a while, – the fresh air from the river will bring the colour back into your cheeks, and put new strength into your veins.”

 

            So Pausias left his work and his companions, and went out alone into the streets, but he looked in vain for the flower-maiden; Glycera was not at her post. Then he passed on sadly through the town, away into the meadows beyond, and into a little coppice in the hollow of the hills. And there he sat down alone upon the soft grass, beneath the shadow of the pine-trees, and tossed away his hat and cloak from him, that he might rest his head upon his hands, and look up dreamily through the quivering foliage at the blue sky above him. And his thoughts were all about the beautiful Glycera, and her soft brown eyes, and her fair face and pleasant smile; and from the folds of his robe he took

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out a little bunch of withered red roses, and kissed them, because the flower-girl had worn them on her bosom.

 

            But presently, while still he held the roses in his hand, there came through the wood the sweet voice of a woman, singing.

 

            And Pausias listened while she came nearer and nearer yet; and still she sang, till all the wood was filled with the soft music, and the birds were silent on the branches for very wonder and delight. And these were the words she sang: –

 

“O fair, very fair and glorious is the broad world,

And all full of sunlight is the blinding and infinite blue;

Earth and heaven are beautiful in their perfect place,

But in y soul within me is all a turbulent sea of love!

O my love! I behold you everywhere by night mind by day;

In my dreams you are with me through the darkness, and when

            I awake you abide till in my heart;

Never a thing l do but I do it for you who cannot see me, never

            a world I speak but I speak it for you who hear me not:

O me! love is very sweet and sorrowful, but the pulses of the great

            earth beat continually to the music of love!

Is there anything stronger and mightier than love, that overcometh

            alike gods and men?

Answer me, ye beautiful flowers of the forest, ye amorous trees that

            overhead tenderly embrace one another!

Alas! I behold you happy in perfect possession;

But my soul, my soul is all a turbulent sea of love!”

 

            Then Pausias rose up wondering, and the hot crimson came and went in his checks, as he stood beneath the tall pines and listened for more. And suddenly from the shadow of the dark trees the form of the beautiful Glycera came out into the sunlight, and the young man’s heart leapt up into his throat for joy.

 

            Her hands were full of flowers and bright berries, and the tremulous leaves of the scarlet acanthus and the daffodil nodded upon her fair forehead. And, while Pausias stood and watched her still, and longed once again to hear her sing, she sat down to rest in the warm light upon the stem of a fallen tree all bound about with clambering ivy and soft tender mosses.

 

            Then she began to make a garland of the flowers she had gathered, and anon while she wove them she talked dreamily to herself, and anon she sang a snatch of drowsy rhyme, but Pausias listened always, underneath the tall pines.

 

            “Ah, well-a-day, dear flowers,” she sighed, “you must comfort me now, for I have no one else to talk to about my sorrow. And though indeed I would give all the world, if it were mine, to see him, yet I dare not stand again by the doors of the school; and today I shall not go at all into the streets, but sit here in the silence and

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think. Maybe my mother will chide me for my idleness, and what shall I say? for I have no heart to stand today in the streets and sell, so this garland must needs be destined to brighten our own little chamber. Did they call him Pausias? I think it was Pausias. Well it is a nobly-sounding name, and he, doubtless, is nobly born. O me! and I, – I am a peasant, and a flower-seller, and yet I love him more than all the world!” And she hid her fair face in her hands, and wept.

 

            Then, when Pausias heard the words she spoke, his love grew all the mightier, and his soul burned within him like a great furnace of fire; and he strode out into the sunshine, and stood before the maiden. But she dropped her garland, and would have fled, only that he caught her by her robe, and bade her stay, that they might sit together on that fallen tree, for, said he, “I have much to say to you, Glycera.”

 

            So they sat down, side by side, Pausias and Glycera, but for a while neither spoke. Then Pausias looked into her face, and said, –

 

            “Tell me truly, Glycera, – of whom spoke you just now, while you sat here alone and wove your flower-wreath?”

 

            Then she blushed and hung down her head, for she thought, “I have betrayed myself through my foolishness, for I fancied none were near to hear me, and now he is making game of me, and will go tomorrow to his friends and tell them what I said, and they will laugh at me together, and I shall become a jest for all the town.” So she answered not a word.

 

            But Pausias took both her hands into his, and read all her heart in her face, while the fitful colour came and went like flame beneath her fair skin. And he said, “Glycera, I heard you talking to yourself about me, and I know you love me. O Glycera! only hear me, for I love you!”

 

            Then she looked up at him, and answered, “Do not mock me, fair sir, for I am poor and fatherless, and it is not fit that one like you should speak of love to a peasant-girl. For you have heard the things I said of you, and I cannot deny them; but now leave me, and forget them all and let me go my way, for I am a true woman, and it is not well my name should be a sport for noble youths.” But her eyes were dim and misty, and her voice faltered as she spoke.

 

            “Glycera, you must not leave me yet. I make no sport of you, for I, too, have a true heart, and I speak the truth to you. It is nothing to me that you are poor or unknown. Am not I noble? and cannot I make my bride what l will? Glycera, I have loved you since that day I saw you in the streets, selling flowers by the doors of our school. See, here are the roses you gave me then; I have carried them about

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with me every day, and I have not lost a single flower. For I love you, I love you, Glycera, as the flowers love the sun, and as the immortals love heaven.”

 

            Then she bowed her head upon his shoulder, and told him all her heart; and Pausias kissed her, and spoke sweet words to her, and they sat there together, hand in hand, for many a happy hour, till the sun dipped down behind the purple hills, and the birds went to sleep in their nests.

 

            Ah, sweetheart, love is very beautiful, and the world is everywhere full of it! It is the one great poem that has been sung by all living things through all ages, since Chaos himself became musical through love. And it dwells for ever and for ever, in all inconceivable fullness, within the heart of the Universal Father, from whom all things take their being. And some day they say that great Father will gather all the whole world into His infinite love, and there will be no more tyranny and strife, and envying and hatred, but all men will be brothers, and He above all. Hat whenever that glorious day may be, sweetheart, and how it may be brought upon us, we cannot tell, nor shall we be able to tell until it comes. Only of this one thing we may be sure, that when it does come it will be all the sweeter, and all the more beautiful to those who have waited and longed, and hoped and lived for it.

 

 

 

CHAPTER IV

 

            PLEASANTLY and dreamily sang the waves on the reedy shore of the river Asopus, and the garrulous wood-birds chattered and screamed to each other on the swinging branches of the tall oaks and the plane-trees.

 

            Pausias and Glycera sat together on the sunny slopes down by the water, and the flower-girl’s basket, newly filled, stood beside her, for it was early morning, and her day’s work was not begun, nor was it yet time for the young student to present himself at the schools. So they sat and talked there, these two, as lovers always talk together, and she told him all her thoughts, and all the things that had befallen her since last they parted, and he spoke to her of his painting, and his hopes, and fears, and disappointments.

 

            And they were very, very happy – so happy that it would be quite impossible for any one who never himself loved to imagine how happy they were.

 

            “Do you know, Glycera,” said Pausias, presently, after a little silence between them, “I cannot paint now as I used do before I saw you, for your face always comes between

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me and my picture, and I cannot draw rightly for thinking of you. And, yesterday, I put in brown eyes for my Pallas Athené, and, when Pamphilus asked me the reason why they were not blue, I had nothing to say, so I twisted and fidgeted about, until I spilt all my colours on the floor, and Melanthius laughed at me, and I felt stupid and foolish before them all. And I know Pamphilus thinks I shall never learn to paint, for now he often sighs, and looks sorrowful and disheartened when he comes and watches me at my work.”

 

            “If that be so, then, Pausias,” she answered, “why don’t you paint me? You might come here early every morning, and in the evening, too, for the days are long and sunny, and l would sit by you under the trees, and you could make a picture of me, and shew it to your master, that he might see you are a true genius after all. Will you do this, Pausias?” And she nestled closely up to his side, and looked not his eyes, and waited for him to speak.

 

            Then he laughed and said, “Glycera, you talk like Apollo’s priestess herself; and truly, darling, you are my oracle, and you shall be obeyed. For I think your idea is a very wise and clever one, and I will bring my canvas and my tools here early tomorrow, if you will come too, for this is a quiet little spot, where no one can see us, and then I will begin my picture. what shall I call it, Glycera? – the ‘Queen of the Flowers,’ or the ‘Sovereign Nymph of the Sicyonic Woods?’ ”

 

            “Wait until it is finished, most impatient Pausias,” she said, laughing; “it will not do, you know, to try weaving the garland before the flowers are plucked!”

 

            “Every shell on the sea-shore sounds of the sea,” returned he, slyly, “and every man talks of his trade; and so you, my dear Glycera, when you want a simile, must needs look for it in your own flower-basket!”

 

            Then they laughed together, and made merry jests, until the sun began to climb up high in the clear blue, and it was time for Pausias and Glycera to go to their work. So the flower-girl rose and took up her basket, and Pausias helped her to fasten it on her shoulder, and they kissed one another, and parted and went upon their ways merrily.

 

 

 

CHAPTER V

 

            “YOU are late this morning, Pausias,” cried Melanthius, meeting his companion at the door of the door of their academy; “Pamphilus has been in the studio full half-an-hour, so that Apelles and I began to imagine you must have drowned yourself

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in the river, or have gone, like another Hylas, to visit the golden-haired Naïades, and we were very properly distressed in consequence. Indeed, I am not quite sure that Apelles has not washed out his painting with his tears; and, as for myself, you behold in me a masculine Niobe! Well indeed, it is that you have at length burst like a sunbeam upon my failing sight, and saved me from weeping myself into an insensible stone, out of grief for the loss of you l But what have you there, shrouded so carefully from the profane and common gaze, in the folds of your cloak? Oh ho!” continued the merry young student, in a bantering tone, “a picture! So we have been working at home like an industrious pupil, have we? And pray what may be the result of our labours? Is it a second edition of the fair Cytherea, or a masterly portrait of the blue-eyed Pallas? No, I crave your forgiveness – I meant brown-eyed; for I mind me how your most admirable modesty prevents your attributing to the virgin goddess orbs of vision resembling your own in hue. Why, heyday, Pausias, what are you blushing at? Pray do not turn quite scarlet all over, or Pamphilus will be apt to imagine you are a rather large cake of vermillion, and rub his brushes on you by mistake!” And shrugging his shoulders and laughing merrily, Melanthius led the way into the hall where Pamphilus and his pupils were at work.

 

            Then Pamphilus looked up as the two young men entered, and said sadly –

 

            “Why came you not hither sooner, Pausias? You work not so cunningly, nor so fast, that you can afford to waste your time; this is not well, my child.”

 

            But Pausias laid upon his easel the picture he had brought, and answered gently, “Master, I am sorry that I have de-served your reproofs, but my picture is heavy to carry, and I had far to come. But now see, for I have toiled hard at this painting that I might win back for myself your love and your praise. What think you, master – is it well?”

 

            And he drew the covering from his picture, and looked into the old man’s face.

 

            Then there was silence, while Pamphilus stood motionless and gazed at the painting before him, and his pupils rose astonished, but Apelles and Melanthius looked at one another wondering.

 

            For the picture was the picture of Glycera, crowned with red dewy roses, and her hands full of bright rainbow-coloured garlands.

 

            Then Pamphilus turned, and uncovered his white locks, and stood bare-headed before his pupil Pausias. “My son,” he said. – and all the school stood hushed and still while he -spoke, – “genius is reverenced alike of gods and men, for only

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genius makes the young man greater than the aged, – the learner wiser than his teacher. You have wrought here a work, Pausias, which will live through many broad years to come, and make your name famous through all Greece, long after you and yours shall have passed away out of the memory of the living. Child, you have gladdened my heart, and made me proud today, for I can see how, in the dim far-off future, you will stand high and glorious among the great ones of our land, historians shall write of your cunning and your skill, and minstrels sing your praise; nor shall I be forgotten then, who taught the painter Pausias!”

 

            Then all the pupils shouted for wonder and surprise, and ran together into the midst of the hall, where Pausias stood by his picture, and one clasped him by the hand, and another by the shoulder, and all wished him joy and were pleased at his pleasure, for every one loved Pausias well.

 

            But only Apelles and Melanthius knew who was the original of that beautiful picture.

 

 

 

CHAPTER VI

 

            VERY fair and sunny had been the long summer day, and bright and clear the broad deep sky; but now evening was come, and the sun sank red and lurid behind the town, and out away to the windward were piled great masses of dark thunder-cloud, that presaged a mighty storm.

 

            But Pamphilus strolled along the path by the river with. his friend Brietes, the father of Pausias, and the cool breeze came up from the water, and the bright glow of sunset danced upon the waves, and neither knew what lay behind them. For the master talked of his favourite pupil, and the father of his only son.

 

            What were they saying?

 

            “Friend Brietes, you speak wisely and well; and though indeed l am loth to part with the lad, yet I believe the parting will be for good. For of late his health has failed from day to day, and his face has grown pale, and, though he is still merry and laughter-loving as ever, yet sometimes methinks I catch a shade upon his brow and a sadness upon his lips that were not wont to be there. And at Athens he will see new things, and fresh faces, and his picture will gain him great honour, and who knows what noble wealth and praise? Ay, Brietes, it is well the boy should go.”

 

            Then Brietes answered him, “I am glad indeed, my good Pamphilus, that I sought counsel and advice of you in this, matter, since I am persuaded that what you say is said

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for the good both of me and of my boy, whom you have always loved well, I know. For Pausias is my only son, and all my soul is wrapt up in him and in his welfare, and I have a twofold reason for the thing I do. For look you now, Pamphilus, how all here who have seen his painting wonder at it; and at Athens. Then, what renown and fame would it not bring him, where genius and talent are always applauded! O Pamphilus, my soul grows great with pride and hope when I think how he may build himself a noble name there some day! And he is ill too, and needs rest and change, for he looks strangely and sad at times. And every morning early, and again at eventide, he slips away alone into the woods, and there doubtless he sits and broods and muses over I know not what foolish fancies. The boy is ill, Pamphilus, I know, and far better away at Athens for a while.”

 

            But all this time, while they said these things to each other, Brietes and Pamphilus were coming nearer and nearer to two who sat together on the green slopes by the river, – a young student and a flower-girl. And these two were talking together, also very earnestly, but the words they spoke to one another were all of love.

 

            “O Pausias!” she said, laying her golden-haired head upon his shoulder, “if only I could be sure you care for me with all your heart, I think I should be quite happy. For then I would not mind the worst that could befall us; I could endure anything for your sake; and it would be enough of happiness to know your love always steadfast and unchanged.”

 

            “Glycera! Glycera!” he answered her, and there was pride in his voice and love in his blue eyes while he spoke, “I cannot bear that you should doubt me still, after all that has passed between us, day after day, for so long. For, O my darling, I swear to you to love you with all my heart and for ever! Only promise me, Glycera, that you will be brave and true, and all things will be well.”

 

            Then she laid her hands in his, and kissed him, and promised. But, even while she spoke, the rolling thunder rose, and shook, and died wailing in echo after echo far away beyond the western hills.

 

            Was it an evil omen?

 

            Then they started to their feet, Pausias and Glycera, and turned, and saw behind them the high dark folds of swirling cloud that grew and spread minute by minute up the purpling sky.

 

            “Glycera, there is going to be a dreadful storm tonight; but, if we go home now, we shall be safe enough, for the clouds are yet far northward, and the wind is still, and they

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cannot rise overhead for an hour or more. Come, darling, while there is time.”

 

            So they climbed together up the steep slippery banks of the river, and gained the footpath above, and passed on swiftly towards the town. But presently, just at the corner of the road where it wound serpent-like round the foot of a high mound, Pausias heard voices speaking, and he started, and turned pale. But Glycera saw the change in his countenance, and she laid her hand on his.

 

            “What ails you, Pausias?” she said.

 

            “O Glycera! Glycera!”

 

            But he could say no more, for they stood face to face with Brietes and Pamphilus.

 

            “Pausias!”

 

            Then the two old men looked into the flower-girls face, and they thought of the picture Pausias had painted, and understood it all.

 

            But the face of Brietes grew stern and angry, and there was a dark look in his eyes as he turned again to his son.

 

            “Pausias, who is this girl, and what do you here alone with her?”

 

            Then Pausias drew Glycera’s hand in his, and stood up proudly like a man, and answered proudly back, for he was no coward.

 

            “Father, this is Glycera, the flower-maiden, and she is good and gentle, and she has given me her love, for I love her, and would have her to be my wife.”

 

            But the old man grew white, and made no reply, for his grief and anger choked the words in his throat; so Pausias spoke again; –

 

            “My father, if I had wrought you some disgrace, or had done some shameful deed, I should not dare to stand before you, and speak to you as now I speak. But I have neither wronged you, nor any human soul, in this my love for one who is worthy to be the bride of a prince.”

 

            Yet Brietes answered him roughly, for he was vexed and sorrowful.

 

            “Son, son, you talk like a silly boy and a fool. Twenty long years I have loved, and watched, and taught you, and besought the gods to spare to me my only son that he might live to be an honour and a glory to my house. And the gods heard my prayer, Pausias, and you lived on, and grew up fair, and tall, and strong; and they gave you genius, and skill, and a cunning hand, so that you became a pride and a joy to my heart. And now I looked for the time when you should win yourself a noble bride, the daughter of some ancient house, and I should see your wealth and prosperity, and hear men speak with envy of the happy painter Pausias.

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But today you have taken away that pleasant hope out of my soul, – you have degraded your name, and dishonoured yourself and your art, and all for what? A pitiful prize indeed you have earned, son Pausias! Let this street-pacing flower-seller go, for she shall never be daughter of mine!”

 

            Then when Pausias heard that, his heart heaved up in his breast with indignation, and his eyes flashed like living coals, and he drew Glycera the closer to him, – all trembling and pale for fear and shame.

 

            And “I care not,” he cried, “for your noble brides and your wealthy heiresses! I work not for them; Let them ‘sit at home, and count their ancestors and their gold, for I will none of them! But beware, father, how you dare breathe a word against my blameless love, for she is pure as the snow from heaven; and never one of those proud maidens you speak of could boast a fairer or a more stainless name than she!”

 

            “Pausias! Pausias! you must be mad!” shrieked the old man, in his wrath, and the hot blood flared up in his face for anger, – “mad, to speak to your father after this fashion! Know you not that I have power and authority over you in all things? Ay, Pausias, and I will use my power too; and you will thank me for it some day to come! For, hear me, son, and trust me to keep my word; tomorrow you go with me to Athenæ. Your master knows that before now I had a mind to take you there, but now I am decided. You shall not be another day in Sicyon, Pausias, to idle away your time and your honour with flower-girls and garland-weavers! As for her picture” – and his voice trembled, and sank again into something like tenderness – “I would indeed it had been any other than it is! But since it s done, it is wondrously well done, and we will take it with us to Athenæ. For there none need know its history nor your foolishness, and it shall earn you a meed of goodly praise. Answer me nothing, Pausias, and spare yourself the pains of entreating me, for my mind is made up, and my word is pledged, and nothing shall alter it.”

 

            But the young man made answer boldly, for, though his heart was heavy for sorrow, and the big tears had put out all the flame in his eyes, yet he was still brave and strong, and knew that the time was come for him to play the man. For did not Glycera stand beside him, and look to him and to him only, for help and for support? So he said, “Father, I am indeed your son, and you must do with me what you will. But know this – for I too have pledged my word to Glycera, and, by the gods, I will keep it! – that nothing, nothing in all the world shall ever make me change or falter in ray love for her. And I care not how broad the

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land, or how long the years, that divide us may be: I will be a true man, father, through all the evil that may come upon us, be it never so hard to bear, and the promise I have given I will not break.”

 

            Then Glycera minded not for Brietes or for Pamphilus, when she heard Pausias speak those words; but she fell upon his neck, and laid her head on his shoulder, and sobbed aloud for joy, and for sorrow, and pride, and love.

 

            But the white-haired Pamphilus shook his head sadly, and said. “Child! child! the sparrow sang to his love last spring – I will never leave thee!’ but when the autumn came he fled away. And today methought I heard him singing to another mate the selfsame song!”

 

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

 

            There was a fearful storm that night over the city of Sicyon, and it lasted until the grey light of the morning grew in the sky, and the broad low sunrise broke beyond the dusky hills.

 

            And once again they met – Pausias and Glycera – all in the wind and the beating rain, and they kissed for the last time, and vowed – poor children! – to be true and loving to each other always, come what would.

 

            And when they parted, Pausias took Glycera’s hands into his own, and looked very earnestly in her face, and said –

 

            “Glycera, Glycera, all will be well yet, I know, if only we can have patience and courage to face our sorrow bravely. Promise me, love, to be true and fast to me always.”

 

            And she answered, “Until death, darling – until death!”

 

 

 

CHAPTER VII

 

            CLOSE by the open casement of a little dark chamber that was all sweet with the odours of wild thyme and roses and almond blossom, Glycera lay alone upon a little wooden couch, and her lap was full of fair flowers and wreaths. Very pallid and wan was the beautiful face now, and all dreamy and lustreless the soft brown eyes, but their winning sweetness was not gone, for Glycera’s soul looked out of them still.

 

            But the flower-girl had lost all her strength and her brightness, and her merry smile, nor was she able any longer to stand in the streets with her basket, and her mother watched her sadly while she drooped and faded day after day, but knew not the reason why. For Pausias had been away at Athens since the last year’s

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summer, and now it was summer again, but Glycera never heard any tidings of him, nor knew if he loved her still.

 

            So she fell sick for sorrow and for failing hope and for longing to see him again; and many a long day she lay by the lattice, and wove her garlands listlessly, for now her companions sold them for her in the town, since she was too feeble to go abroad.

 

            And while she lay there she made sweet rhymes, and sang them softly to herself as was her wont when she was alone. And she sang of Pausias, and of her love for him, and her trust and patience, and she wondered if he were thinking of her then, and when he would be able to come back again, and take her home to be his wife.

 

            And with the thought the colour stole for a moment into the pale thin face, and her eyes grew misty while she pictured in her heart the happiness and the sunshine that would be. “And I wonder,” she thought, “what he will be like when I see him again, and if his eyes are as blue, and his hair as fair and as curly as ever! And I wonder if he will think me altered, and what he will say to me when we meet! Oh how handsome he is! and how good and brave it was of him to face for my sake his father s anger, and to forego all thought of winning himself a wealthy maiden for his wife, – for me, me, – a poor peasant-girl, who have nothing in the world to give him but my love!”

 

            And then she laid her little trembling hands together, and prayed the gods to bless her Pausias, her noble Pausias, and make her day by day more worthy of him, that all her life long, – oh, all her life long! – he might see how mightily she strove to deserve his love, and to be to him a true and faithful wife until their life’s end.- And presently the door was pushed open gently, and a bright rosy face looked into the room, and a pleasant voice said –

 

            “What, still at work, Glycera? I fancied you might have been asleep, and I feared to wake you, so I came in softly, and left Lars outside, waiting for me. See, your basket is empty, Glycera, – I did business famously today, for all the young men at the schools bought of me, because you know tomorrow their master gives them holiday, and their hall is to be decked with flowers in honour of the gala.”

 

            “What gala, Myrrha?” said the flower-girl, looking dreamily; “I did not know anything was going on.”

 

            “How now, Glycera!” returned her companion merrily, “hav’n’t you heard the news? Everyone is talking about it! Well, well, I don’t see how you should know it, though, since you lie here all day long, and never see anybody. Give me that bunch of acacias you have in your lap, Glycera, and l can sit here and twist up a chaplet while

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I tell you all about it. Why, then, the young student Pausias, – you know the name, don’t you? he that made such a stir here more than a year ago by painting some wonderful picture or other, and then went off to Athenæ with his father to make his fortune, – well, he is going to be married tomorrow. And they say his bride is one of the noblest and richest maidens in all Attica, and he is to bring her here to live with him and his father at their old home, and all the town is full of the tidings! And you’ll have plenty to do, Glycera, when they come, for there’ll be feasts and dances given to all the town, and we shall have gar-lands hanging from every window! So you must make haste and get well again as fast as possible, that you may be able to work the better, and dance with us all, and play games in the meadow. But do you know, Glycera, I saw the painter Pamphilus today, for he came to buy a bunch of roses of me; and when I spoke to him of Pausias, and asked him if he were not glad to hear such good news of his pupil, he only looked sorrowful, and murmured out something about a sparrow and a new mate, and I know not what beside t I think the old fellow is crazed or moon-struck; for why else should he talk so strangely, and look so pitiful and sad when everyone else is merry? There, Glycera, now the story is told; and look, I have just finished the wreath, all but, – why, Glycera! Glycera! what have I done? – what ails you, sweet? Why don’t you speak to me? – O Lars! Lars! come, come quickly! What shall I do!” For the garland she had been weaving had fallen from the flower-girl’s hands, and her eyes were strange and glassy, and a spasm passed across her lips as if of sharp, sudden pain.

 

            But Glycera’s mother had heard the cry in the inner chamber where she sat spinning, and she Left her distaff and came in haste, and found Myrrha and Lars, and Glycera lying motionless and white on her pillows.

 

            O sweetheart! my story is common enough, I know, for things like this happen somewhere every day. And most men and women live through them, and wear their sorrow out; for life is sweet, and hearts are hard to break, – but yet with some it is otherwise. So they came and stood beside her,--those three, – all hushed and wondering, and she held out her hands to them, and looked up at their sad faces, and tried to smile, but the smile would not come.

 

            Ah, Pausias, where were then your vows, and your promises, and your unchanging love? Poor boy! you loved once indeed very truly and sincerely; but then you forgot all about it long ago, and thought, no doubt, that the little flower-girl had forgotten it too. What if you could have stood then in

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that little dark room, and could have seen what was going on there?

 

            Then that poor mother stooped down weeping, and kissed the white forehead, and cried out bitterly in her sorrow, “O my darling! my darling! if they take you away from me, I shall break my heart! For you are all I have left to me now in the world, and I have no one else to love but you l O me, must I live without you, my dear, dear child?”

 

            There lay among the flowers in Glycera’s lap a little knot of red roses. And she took them up gently, and laid them upon her bosom, and folded her hands over them, and turned her face towards the window. Then her eyes closed wearily, and her white lips moved a moment while she whispered something to herself. They knelt beside her, and listened earnestly for the broken words. And they were these, –

 

            “Until death, – love, – until – death, – true and fast, – true –.”

 

            And then there was silence.

 

            But, just as that last word was spoken, there came through the lattice a single ray of bright ruddy light from the setting sun. And it fell full upon the white face and golden hair, and lit them up with misty glory. And then little by little it faded away and was gone, and all was darkness.

 

            Sweetheart, – my story is told.

 

 

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