University of Virginia Library

12. XII.

“What!” he exclaimed, “shall my eyes only
look upon this gracious presence? Shall this
blessing come to me only? Is there none worthy
to share with me this joy, — to partake with me
of this glorious truth, — to live with me in the triumph
which is promised me, and which must be
mine!”

And he mused thus by the hearth of his aged
grandsire, and he saw not that the old man slept
in his seat. Then came to him Damaina, the best
beloved of all his sisters, and she threw herself
around his neck, and she said to him, —

“See, our grandsire sleepeth, Ipsistos, — he will
fall from his chair, — help me to bear him to his
couch.”

And in his heart an instant voice cried, —

“Thou art she who shall share with me this
blessing, — even thou, my gentlest Damaina; for
thy heart is pure, and thy soul loveth the truth,
and thou hast reverence for the aged, and clamorest
not in the high places with the presumption of
ignorance. Thou art worthy of this joy, Damaina.
It shall be thine.”

And he lifted his sleeping grandsire to his couch
of straw, and that night he said nothing to the
young maiden. But when the gray dawn had
risen to his summits in the east, then did Ipsistos
come to the chamber of the maiden, and he cried
to her with a persuasive voice, and these were his
words, —

“Come forth, Damaina, my beloved. I would
have thee go with me. Now, while the day is
young, and the hours are blessed with the vigor
of a night's repose, go forth with me into the forest.
I will show thee some precious flowers, and thine
eyes shall behold a loveliness which thou hast never
seen before!”

And the maiden came forth with the step that

dances to the music of a gentle heart, and a youthful
but pure fancy.

“Whither dost thou lead me, my brother? But
I care not whither. I know thy walks must be the
loveliest, for well I know how much thou seekest
the things which are so. Lead me, then, my brother,
— I will joy in the flowers which give thee
joy; and my heart shall drink of the same sweets
with thine.”

And Ipsistos rejoiced greatly because of the
fondness of the maiden.

“If she will love the things which I love,” he
mused to his own soul, “she will soon see the
glories which delight mine eye.”

And he led her to the pale groves where he worshipped;
and he shewed her the simple temple
which his hands had built. And he bowed himself
before the temple, and he called upon the
maiden to do likewise.

“Wherefore, my brother?” asked Damaina.

“It is the temple of the true goddess, my sister.
I have beheld her divine presence even among
these trees. She will be with me anon.”

But the maiden trembled, and forebore to kneel
with her brother, by whose words her soul was
confounded.

“What altar is this for the goddess, — what

true goddess is this of whom thou speakest, Ipsistos?”

“She who is truth, — whom the truth alone
makes beautiful, — makes strong, — makes immortal.”

“Ha! my brother, — but these words of thine
are strange to mine ears. Have we not long worshipped
this goddess? Stands not her white temple
upon the high hill that looks down upon the
city of our fathers.”

“No! her temple is in the white heart! It is
with you and with me, my sister, if we blind not
ourselves wilfully, and refuse not to yield our
hearts to the truth. Stay, — hear you not her
voice?”

“I hear nothing, my brother, but a faint murmur
as of a wind that sighs among the decaying
trees.”

“It is her voice! Kneel with me, dearest sister,
and the melody shall sink into your heart.”

But Damaina did not then kneel by reason of
her great surprise. But Ipsistos knelt, and he
prayed with a passionate plea that the sweet voice
should fill the ears of the sister whom he loved.
And when the maiden heard his prayer, her heart
strove within her; and she mused to herself, and
said, —

“Surely this brother loves me, — surely he is
wise and good;” — and even while he prayed she
sank down on the turf beside him, and her prayers
were joined with his. And the sound, which was
but a murmur in her ears before, now took a shape
of music, — faint at first as the first plainings of
the harp troubled by the rising wind, but gathering
into fulness at last, and swelling into expression
that will not be restrained. The heart of the
maiden trembled within her, but it was with a new-born
joy, and not with any fear, that it trembled;
and she began to love the voice with a love like
that of Ipsistos, though, to this time, she had no
knowledge of the blessed spirit which he had seen,
save by the gentle tones with which she had spoken
to her ears. Yet, all the while that she prayed
beside her brother, the face was looking down
upon them both, though the maiden beheld it not.
And the eyes of Ipsistos were opened, and he beheld
the form of the true goddess, even as she had
promised that he should behold her. And she
smiled upon him, so that he felt the wings growing
upon his shoulders, but her words were grave
in his ears.

“Thy prayer is granted thee, Ipsistos, — thou
hast seen me according to the desire of thy heart.

But thy hour is at hand, my son, — thou hast but
little time to live.”

And the youth bowed his face to the earth, and
his heart spoke in prayer.

“Art thou ready, Ipsistos? The death-angel
will demand thee soon.”

And the youth replied sadly, but without faltering,
—

“Joy of divine love, I am ready.”

And the lovely image faded away in a sweet
smile from his sight, and the music died away
among the pale groves; and the two, Ipsistos and
Damaina, rose from the place where they had
worshipped; and their souls were lifted into thought,
so that neither spoke as they took their way, with
slow feet, back to the habitation of their father.
Yet the words of the voice to Ipsistos came not
to the ears of Damaina, neither did his lips reveal
to her the doom which awaited him.