ity-watch, the friends looked at each other a moment in silence. “Who has done this?” asked Lamon. Thuphrastos shrugged his shoulders. “Is there any way of knowing who has denounced an hetaeria?” he muttered. “It was probably Megas,” whispered Lysiteles in his faint, cracked voice. “No,” replied Sthenelus positively, “had it been he, by Zeus, he would have been with them. Megas would have wanted to enjoy the sight of our faces when we were surprised. No, it was not he. I think it was Cephidosemos, who watched Xenocles and myself from behind the column. As an informer he is afraid of drawing hatred on his head, so he ke, but are
eps away.” 192 Thuphrastos passed his hand thoughtfully over his beard. “What offices can Phanos bestow upon us?” he asked. “I have heard,” answered Lamon, “that a tax-collector is to be sent to some of the rebellious cities. He will have hundreds of soldiers with him. It would not surprise me, Thuphrastos, if you should be appointed to that office.” “Well!?/p> out, feet
?exclaimed the old captain, “I shall rely on Phanos’ words. He never forgets.” “We will all trust him!” echoed the group in chorus. “But,” continued Thuphrastos, turning to Xenocles, “however we may fare, there is one person who will lose....” “Whom do you mean?” “By Zeus, your daughter! Was she not betrothed to Acestor, and was not the wedding to have taken place this very day?” Xenocles made a repellent gesture.foremost.?/a>
“Do not speak of it!” he cried. “Well then,” replied Thuphrastos, “I’ll give you a son-in-law and, by the gods, a better one than that
chatterer.” Xenocles raised his head with a questioning glance. “The man I shall bring you is not far off,” continued Thuphrastos. “Here you see Hipyllos! He
loves the maiden. We know of him—what nobody knew about that shrieker—that he is rich. He showed193 his courage at the battle of Antirrhium—he
has archons in his family. What more can you desire?” “Nothing, by Zeus!” answered Xenocles laughing and grasping the young man’s hand, “wha
t objection should I have to a son-in-law who will make me a family connection of Lacrateides?” Hipyllos pressed Xenocles’ hand in bo
th his own. “Father!” he cried warmly, “give me your daughter Clytie! Neither you nor she shall repent it—that I swear
by all the gods.” Soon after Hipyllos stole out into the peristyle and called his slave. “Myrmex,” he whispered, “hurry down to the house of Sauros, the armorer. Ask for Ninus, the priestess of Sabazius, and let her see that the young lady and her slave return home at once without being seen. Look, here is money.” When Hipyllos returned, the last discussion among the hetaeria took place. It lasted an hour; finally the members of the society released one an
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was stony and the moon often concealed behind clouds the old man had lighted a torch, but Hipyllos wanted neither him nor his torch—he let the moon light him as best it could and hurried past him, exclaiming: “Follow me, and put out the torch when you enter the street.” Then, leaping rather than walking down the hill, he turned into the dark, shaded Limnae, and soon saw the familiar ray of light stream out to meet him from the side-building of Xenocles’ house. H
urrying towards it, he picked up a pebble from the ground and flung it against the wall. The red curtain was drawn aside and in the opening appeared the object of his longing—Clytie! As the lamp stood back in the room the rays divided and left her almost in darkness, but the youthful figure formed a shadowy outline, which was quite enough to195 make a lover’s heart throb. Though Hipyllos was unable t
o distinguish her features, the luxuriant hair, the childish roundness of the cheeks, and the graceful slope of the shoulders possessed bewitching suggestions of youthful beauty, and Hipyllos knew that these signs were no delusions. Spite of the darkness outside, Clytie recognized him and exclaimed: “Eternal Gods! What has happened? Good or evil fortune? Speak, speak, I implore you.” Hipyllos listened in delight. Every word uttered by the young girl’s lips
echoed with a silvery cadence upon the silence of the night. He pushed a log against the wall with his foot, and sprang upon it. “Dear, lovely Clytie,” he whispered, “give me your hand! What I have to say is surely worth a clasp of the fingers.” He now told her in a few words the events of the evening; but he was apparently not satisfied with a mere clasp of the hand.
Suddenly the street was illumined by a broad ray of light and, though Hipyllos’ shadow, gigantic and strangely distorted, fell on the wall and the loop-hole it was not difficult for the new-comers to see that he was in the act of pressing his lips upon a dazzlingly white arm, which vainly strove to escape the caress. “Aha!” cried an angry voice, “a pretty sight, by Heracles....” 196 Clytie, with a half-stifled shriek, vanished from the loop-hole and Hipyllos, turning, leaped down from the log. Accompanied by