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Child, Lydia Maria Francis, 1802-1880 [1836], Philothea (Otis, Broaders & Co., Boston) [word count] [eaf046].
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Take courage! no vain dream hast thou beheld,
But in thy sleep a truth.

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At the time of Philothea's death, Pandænus, the
nephew of Phidias, was in Athens, intending soon to
return to Elis, in company with an ambassador bound
to Lacedæmon; and Eudora resolved to avail herself
of this opportunity to follow the farewell advice of her
friend. As the time for departure was near at hand,
no change was made in household arrangements; and
though the desolate maiden at times experienced sensations
of extreme loneliness, the near vicinity of Clinias
and Phœnarete left her no fears concerning adequate

This confidence seemed well grounded; yet not
many days after the funeral solemnities, Eudora suddenly
disappeared. She had gone out, as usual, to
gather flowers for the tomb of the beloved sleeper; and
not finding sufficient variety in the garden, had wandered
into a small field adjoining. Mibra was the first
to observe that her absence was unusually protracted.
She mentioned her anxiety to Geta, who immediately
went out in search of his young mistress; but soon
returned, saying she was neither in the house of Clinias,
nor in the neighboring fields, nor at the Fountain of

The faithful attendants at once suspected treachery

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in Alcibiades. “I never rightly understood what was
the difficulty, when Eudora was locked up in her
chamber, and Lucos chained to the door,” said Geta;
“but from what I could hear, I know that Phidias was
very angry with Alcibiades. Many a time I've heard
him say that he would always have his own way, either
by a straight course or a crooked one.”

“And my good old master used to say he had
changed but little since he was a boy, when he made
the wagoner turn back, by lying down in front of his
horses,” rejoined Mibra: “I thought of that, when
Alcibiades came and drank at the Fountain, while I
was filling my urn. You remember I told you that he
just tasted of the water, for a pretence, and then began
to inquire where Eudora was, and whether she would
remain in Athens.”

After some further consultation, it was deemed best
for Mibra to request a private interview with Phœnarete,
during which she freely expressed her fears.
The wife of Clinias, though connected by marriage
with the house of Alcibiades, was far from resenting
the imputation, or pretending that she considered it
groundless. Her feelings were at once excited for the
lonely orphan girl, whose beauty, vivacity, and gentleness,
had won upon her heart; and she readily promised
assistance in any plan for her relief, provided it
met the approbation of her husband.

There was in Salamis a large mansion built by Eurysaces,
the ancestor of Alcibiades, by whom it had
been lately purchased, and repaired for a summer
residence. Report said that many a fair maiden had
been decoyed within its walls, and retained a prisoner.
This place was guarded by several powerful dogs, and
vigilant servants were always stationed at the gates.

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Mibra proposed to disguise herself as much as possible,
and, with a basket on her head, go thither to offer fish
for sale. Geta, being afraid to accompany her, hired
an honest boatman to convey her to the island, and wait
till she was ready to return to Athens.

As she approached the walls of the mansion, the
dogs began to growl, but were soon silenced by the
porters. Without answering the indecent jibes, with
which they greeted her ears as she passed along, the
little fish-woman balanced her basket on her head, and
began carelessly to sing some snatches of a hymn to
Amphitrite. It was a tune of which Eudora was particularly
fond; and often when Mibra was humming it
over her work, her soft and sonorous voice had been
heard responding from the inner apartment.

She had scarcely finished the first verse, ere the
chorus was repeated by some one within the dwelling;
and she recognized the half-suppressed growl of Hylax,
as if his barking had been checked by some cautious
hand. Afraid to attract attention by a prolonged
stay, Mibra passed along and entered the servants'
apartment. Having sold a portion of her fish, and
lingered as long as she dared in conversation with the
cooks, she returned slowly in the same direction, singing
as she went, and carefully observing everything
around her. She was just beginning to fear the impossibility
of obtaining any solution of her doubts, when
she saw a leaf fluttering near the ground, as if its motions
were impelled by some other cause than the wind.
Approaching nearer, she perceived that it was let down
from a grated opening in the wall above, by a small
thread, with a little ball of wax attached to it for a
weight. She examined the leaf, and discovered certain
letters pricked upon it; and when the string was pulled

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gently, it immediately dropped upon her arm. At the
same time, a voice, which she distinctly recognized as
Eudora's, was heard singing:

On a rock, amid the roaring water,
Lies Cassiopea's gentle daughter.

Mibra had just begun to sing, “Bold Perseus
comes,” when she perceived a servant crossing the
court, and deemed it prudent to retire in silence. She
carefully preserved the leaf, and immediately after her
return hastened to the apartment of Phœnarete, to
obtain an explanation. That matron, like most Grecian
women, was ignorant of her own written language.
The leaf was accordingly placed in a vessel of water,
to preserve its freshness until Clinias returned from
the Prytaneum. He easily distinguished the name of
Pandænus joined with his own; and having heard the
particulars of the story, had no difficulty in understanding
that Mibra was directed to apply to them for assistance.
He readily promised to intercede with his
profligate kinsman, and immediately sent messengers in
search of Pandænus.

Geta awaited intelligence with extreme impatience.
He was grateful for many an act of kindness from
Eudora; and he could not forget that she had been
the cherished favorite of his beloved and generous

At night, Clinias returned from a conference with
Alcibiades, in which the latter denied all knowledge of
Eudora; and it seemed hazardous to institute legal
inquiries into the conduct of a man so powerful and so
popular, without further evidence than had yet been
obtained. Pandænus could not be found. At the house
where he usually resided, no information could be

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obtained, except that he went out the preceding evening,
and had not returned as usual.

During that night, and part of the following day, the
two faithful attendants remained in a state of melancholy
indecision. At last, Geta said, “I will go once
more in search of Pandænus; and if he has not yet
returned, I have resolved what to do. To-day I
saw one of the slaves of Artaphernes buying olives;
and he said he must have the very best, because his
master was to give a feast to-night. Among other
guests, he spoke of Alcibiades; and he is one that is
always sure to stay late at his wine. While he is
feasting, I will go to Salamis. His steward often
bought anchovies of me at Phalerum. He is a countryman
of mine; and I know he is as avaricious as an
Odomantian. I think money will bribe him to carry a
message to Eudora, and to place a ladder near the
outer wall for her escape. He is intrusted with all the
keys, and can do it if he will. And if he can get gold
enough by it, I believe he will trust Hermes to help
him settle with his master, as he has done many a
time before this. I will be in readiness at the Triton's
Cove, and bring her back to Athens as fast as oars can

“Do so, dear Geta,” replied Mibra; “but disguise
yourself from the other servants, and take with you
the robe and veil that I wear to market. Then if
Eudora could only walk a little more like a fish-woman,
she might pass very well. But be sure you do not pay
the steward till you have her at the boat's edge; for
he, that will play false games with his master, may do
the same by you.”

Necessary arrangements were speedily made. Geta
resolved to offer the earnings of his whole life as a

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bribe, rather than intrust the secret of his bold expedition
to any of the household of Clinias; and Mibra,
fearful that their own store would not prove a sufficient
temptation, brought forth a sum of money found in
Eudora's apartment, together with a valuable necklace,
which had been a birth-day present from Phidias.

It was past midnight when three figures emerged
from the shadow of the high wall surrounding the mansion
of Alcibiades, and with cautious haste proceeded
toward the cove. Before they could arrive at the
beach, a large and gaily-trimmed boat was seen approaching
the shore from the direction of the Piræus.
It was flaming with torches; and a band of musicians
poured out upon the undulating waters a rich flood of
melody, rendered more distinct and soft by the liquid
element over which it floated. One of the fugitives
immediately turned, and disappeared within the walls
they had left; the other two concealed themselves in a
thick grove, the darkness of which was deepened by
the glare of torches along its borders. A man richly
dressed, with several fillets on his head, and crowned
with a garland of violets, ivy, and myrtle, stepped from
the boat, supported by the arm of a slave. His countenance
was flushed with wine, and as he reeled along,
he sung aloud:

“Have I told you all my flames,
'Mong the amorous Syrian dames?
Have I numbered every one
Glowing under Egypt's sun?
Or the nymphs, who, blushing sweet,
Deck the shrine of Love in Crete—
Where the god, with festal play,
Holds eternal holiday?”

“Castor and Polydeuces!” whispered Geta, “there

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goes Alcibiades. He has returned from his wine
earlier than usual; but so blinded by the merry god,
that he would not have known us, if we had faced the
glare of his torches.”

“Oh, hasten! hasten!” said Eudora, weeping and
trembling, as she spoke. “I beseech you do not let a
moment be lost.”

As Alcibiades and his train disappeared, they left
the grove, and hurried toward their boat; keeping as
much as possible within the shadow of the trees. They
reached the cove in safety, and Geta rowed with unwonted
energy; but he was single-handed, and Salamis
was many stadia from Athens. Long before he arrived
at the place where he had been accustomed to land,
they discerned the sound of distant oars plied with
furious rapidity.

They landed, and with the utmost haste proceeded
toward the city. Eudora, fearful of being overtaken,
implored Geta to seek refuge behind the pillars of
Poseidon's temple. Carefully concealing themselves
in the dense shadow, they remained without speaking,
and almost without breathing, until their pursuers had
passed by. The moment these were out of hearing,
they quitted their hiding-place, and walked swiftly
along the Piræus. Intense fear imparted a degree of
strength, which the maiden, under other circumstances,
would have hardly deemed it possible to exert. She
did not for a moment relax her speed, until they came
within sight of the Areopagus, and heard noisy shouts,
apparently not far distant. Eudora, sinking with
fatigue and terror, entreated Geta not to attempt any
approach to the house of Clinias, where her enemies
would certainly be lying in wait for them. With uncertain
steps they proceeded toward the great Gate of

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the Acropolis, until the helpless maiden, frightened at
the approaching noise, stopped suddenly, and burst into
a flood of tears.

“There is one place of safety, if you have courage
to try it,” said Geta: “We are nearly under the
Propylæa; and close beside us is the grotto of Creüsa.
Few dare to enter it in the day-time, and no profane
steps will venture to pass the threshold after night-fall;
for it is said the gods often visit it, and fill it with
strange sights and sounds. Shall we enter?”

It was a windy night, and the clouds that occasionally
passed over the face of the moon gave the earth a
dreary aspect. The high wall under which they stood
seemed to frown gloomily upon them, and the long
flight of white marble steps, leading from the Propylæa,
looked cold and cheerless beneath the fitful gleamings
of the moon.

Eudora hesitated, and looked timidly around; but as
the sound of riotous voices came nearer, she seized
Geta's arm, and exclaimed, in hurried accents, “The
gods protect me! Let us enter.”

Within the grotto, all was total darkness. Having
groped their way a short distance from the entrance,
they found a large rock, on which they seated themselves.
The voices approached nearer and their discordant
revelry had an awful sound amid the echos of the
grotto. These gradually died away in the distance,
and were heard no more.

When all was perfectly still, Eudora, in whispered
accents, informed Geta that she had been seized, as
she stooped to gather flowers within sight of her own
dwelling. Two men suddenly started up from behind a
wall, and one covered her mouth, while the other bound
her hands. They made a signal to a third, who came

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with two attendants and a curtained chariot, in which
she was immediately conveyed to a solitary place on the
seashore and thence to Salamis. Two men sat beside
her, and held her fast, so as to prevent any possibility
of communication with the few people passing at that
early hour.

Arrived at the place of destination, she was shut up
in a large apartment luxuriously furnished. Alcibiades
soon visited her, with an affectation of the most
scrupulous respect, urging the plea of ardent love as
an excuse for his proceedings.

Aware that she was completely in his power, she
concealed her indignation and contempt, and allowed
him to indulge the hope that her affections might be
obtained, if she were entirely convinced of his wish to
atone for the treachery and violence with which she
had been treated.

Mibra'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 passed
without any tidings from Pandænus 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 assumed but for a short

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 assented, without
even inquiring the amount; and he, fearful of
detection, scarcely allowed time to throw Mibra's robe
and veil over her own.

Having thus far effected her escape, Eudora was

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extremely anxious that Pandænus and Clinias should
be informed of her place of retreat, as soon as the
morning dawned. When Geta told her that Pandæ
nus 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 echos 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 circumstance
warned them of thedanger 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 cervices 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.”

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The cavern was deep, and wide. As they passed
along, the dawning light indistinctly revealed statues
of Phœbus and Pan, with altars of pure white marble.
At the farthest extremity, stood a trophy of shields,
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 chinks 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 gods.

The day was fading into twilight, when a feeble old
man came, with a garland on his head, and invoked
the blessing of Phœbus. 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.

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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 passing
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 Phœbus 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 Creüsa's grotto
after night-fall 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

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; Philæmon's

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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

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 Phœbus 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 god
of Arcadia, who warred with the Athenians against the

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.”

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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, thorny 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,

“Oh, blessed be the sound of your voice,” replied
the peasant. “Where are you? Let me take your
hand; for I am afraid, in this awful place.”

“Don't be frightened, my good Mibra. I have had
joyful visions here,” rejoined the maiden. She reached
out her arms as she spoke, and perceived that her
companion trembled exceedingly. “May the gods
protect us!” whispered she; “but it is a fearful thing
to come here in the night-time. All the gold of Crœ
sus would not have tempted me, if Geta had not
charged me to do it, to save you from starving.”

“You are indeed kind friends,” said Eudora; “and
the only ones I have left in this world. If ever I get
safely back to Elis, you shall be to me as brother and

“Ah, dear lady,” replied the peasant, “you have
ever been a good friend to us;—and there is one that
sleeps, who never spoke an ungentle word to any of
us. When her strength was almost gone, she bade

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me love Eudora, even as I had loved her; and the
gods know that for her sake Mibra would have died.
Phœbus protect me! but this is an awful place to speak
of those who sleep. It must be near the dawn; but
it is fearfully dark here. Where is your hand? I
have brought some bread and figs, and this little arabyllus
of water mixed with Lesbian wine. Eat; for
you must be almost famished.”

Eudora took the refreshment, but ere she tasted it,
inquired, “Why did not Geta come, as he promised?”

Mibra began to weep.

“Has evil befallen him?” said Eudora, in tones of

The afflicted wife sobbed out, “Poor Geta! Poor,
dear Geta! I dreaded to come into this cavern; but
then I thought if I died, it would be well if we could
but die together.”

“Do tell me what has happened,” said Eudora:
“Am I doomed to bring trouble upon all who love me?
Tell me, I entreat you.”

Mibra, weeping as she spoke, then proceeded to say
that Alcibiades had discovered Eudora's escape immediately
after his return from the feast of Artaphernes.
He was in a perfect storm of passion, and
threatened every one of the servants with severe punishment,
to extort confession. The steward received a few
keen lashes, notwithstanding his protestations of innocence.
But he threatened to appeal to the magistrates
for another master; and Alcibiades, unwilling to lose
the services of this bold and artful slave, restrained
his anger, even when it was at its greatest height.

To appease his master's displeasure, the treacherous
fellow aknowledged that Geta had been seen near the

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walls, and that his boat had been lying at the Triton's

In consequence of this information, men were instantly
ordered in pursuit, with orders to lie in wait for
the fugitives, if they could not be overtaken before
morning. When Geta left Creüsa's Grotto, he was
seized before he reached the house of Clinias.

Mibra knew nothing of these proceedings, but had
remained anxiously waiting till the day was half spent.
Then she learned that Alcibiades had claimed Eudora
and Geta as his slaves, by virtue of a debt due to him
from Phidias for a large quantity of ivory; and notwithstanding
the efforts of Clinias in their favor, the
Court of Forty Four, in the borough of Alcibiades, decided
that he had a right to retain them, until the debt
was paid, or until the heir appeared to show cause why
it should not be paid.

“The gods have blessed Clinias with abundant
wealth,” said Eudora; “Did he offer nothing to save
the innocent?”

“Dear lady,” replied Mibra, “Alcibiades demands
such an immense sum for the ivory, that he says he
might as well undertake to build the wall of Hipparchus,
as to pay it. But I have not told you the most
cruel part of the story. Geta has been tied to a ladder,
and shockingly whipped, to make him tell where you
were concealed. He said he would not do it if he died.
I believe they had the will to kill him; but one of the
young slaves, whose modesty Alcibiades had insulted,
was resolved to make complaint to the magistrates, and
demand another master. She helped Geta to escape;
they have both taken refuge in the Temple of Theseus.
Geta dared trust no one but me to carry a message to

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Clinias. I told him he supped with Pericles to-night;
and he would not suffer me to go there, lest Alcibiades
should be among the guests.”

“I am glad he gave you that advice,” said Eudora;
for though Pericles might be willing to serve me, for
Philothea's sake, I fear if he once learned the secret,
it would soon be in Aspasia's keeping.”

“And that would be all the same as telling Alcibiades
himself,” rejoined Mibra. “But I must tell you
that I did not know of poor Geta's sufferings until
many hours after they happened. Since he went to
Salamis in search of you, I have not seen him until
late this evening. He is afraid to leave the altar lest
he should fall into the hands of his enemies; and that
is the reason he sent me to bring you food. He expects
to be a slave again; but having been abused by
Alcibiades, he claims the privilege of the law to be
transferred to another master.”

Eudora wept bitterly to think she had no power to
rescue her faithful attendant from a condition he
dreaded worse than death.

Mibra endeavored, in her own artless way, to soothe
the distress her words had excited. “In all Geta's
troubles, he thinks more of you than he does of himself.”
said she. “He bade me convey you to the
house of a wise woman from Thessalia, who lives near
the Sacred Gate; for he says she can tell us what it is
best to do. She has learned of magicians in foreign
lands. They say she can compound potions that will
turn hatred into love; and that the power of her enchantments
is so great, she can draw the moon down
from the sky.”

“Nevertheless, I shall not seek her counsel,” replied
the maiden; “for I have heard a better oracle.”

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When she had given an account of the vision in the
cave, the peasant asked, in a low and trembling voice,
“Did it not make you afraid?”

“Not in the least,” answered Eudora; “and therefore
I am doubtful whether it were a vision or a dream.
I spoke to Philothea just as I used to do; without remembering
that she had died. She left me more composed
and happy than I have been for many days.
Even if it were a vision, I do not marvel that the spirit
of one so pure and peaceful should be less terrific than
the ghost of Medea or Clytemnestra.”

“And the light shone all at once!” exclaimed Mibra,
eagerly. “Trust to it, dear lady—trust to it.
A sudden brightness hath ever been a happy omen.”

Two baskets, filled with Copaic eels and anchovies,
had been deposited near the mouth of the cavern; and
with the first blush of morning, the fugitives offered
prayers to Phœbus and Pan, and went forth with the
baskets on their heads, as if they sought the market.
Eudora, in her haste, would have stepped across the
springs that bubbled from the rocks; but Mibra held
her back, saying, “Did you never hear that these
brooks are Creüsa's tears? When the unhappy
daughter of Erectheus left her infant in this cave to
perish, she wept as she departed; and Phœbus, her immortal
lover, changed her tears to rills. For this
reason, the water has ever been salt to the taste. It
is a bad omen to wet the foot in these springs.”

Thus warned, Eudora turned aside, and took a more
circuitous path.

It happened, fortunately, that the residence of Artaphernes
stood behind the temple of Asclepius, at a
short distance from Creüsa's Grotto; and they felt
assured that no one would think of searching for them

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[figure description] Page 245.[end figure description]

within the dwelling of the Persian stranger. They
arrived at the gate, without question or hindrance; but
found it fastened. To their anxious minds, the time
they were obliged to wait seemed like an age; but at
last the gate was opened, and they preferred a humble
request to see Artaphernes. Eudora, being weary of
her load, stooped to place the basket of fish on a
bench, and her veil accidentally dropped. The porter
touched her under the chin, and said, with a rude laugh,
“Do you suppose, my pretty dolphin, that Artaphernes
buys his own dinner?”

Eudora's eyes flashed fire at this familiarity; but
checking her natural impetuosity, she replied, “It was
not concerning the fish that I wished to speak to your
master. We have business of importance.”

The servant gave a significant glance, more insulting
than his former freedom. “Oh, yes, business of
importance, no doubt,” said he; “but do you suppose,
my little Nereid, that the servant of the Great King is
himself a vender of fish, that he should leave his couch
at an hour so early as this?”

Eudora slipped a ring from her finger, and putting it
in his hand, said, in a confidential tone, “I am not a
fishwoman. I am here in disguise. Go to your master,
and conjure him, if he ever had a daughter that he
loved, to hear the petition of an orphan, who is in great

The man's deportment immediately changed; and
as he walked away, he muttered to himself, “She
don't look nor speak like one brought up at the gates;
that's certain.”

Eudora and Mibra remained in the court for a long
time, but with far less impatience than they had
waited at the gate. At length the servant returned,

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[figure description] Page 246.[end figure description]

saying his master was now ready to see them. Eudora
followed, in extreme agitation, with her veil folded
closely about her; and when they were ushered into
the presence of Artaphernes, the embarrassment of her
situation deprived her of the power of utterance.
With much kindness of voice and manner, the venerable
stranger said: “My servant told me that one of
you was an orphan, and had somewhat to ask of me.”

Eudora replied: “O Persian stranger, I am indeed
a lonely orphan, in the power of mine enemies; and
I have been warned by a vision to come hither for assistance.”

Something in her words, or voice, seemed to excite
surprise, mingled with deeper feelings; and the old
man's countenance grew more troubled, as she continued:
“Perhaps you may recollect a maiden that
sung at Aspasia's house, to whom you afterwards sent
a veil of shining texture?”

“Ah, yes,” he replied, with a deep sigh: “I do
recollect it. They told me she was Eudora, the
daughter of Phidias.”

“I am Eudora, the adopted daughter of Phidias,”
rejoined the maiden. “My benefactor is dead, and I
am friendless.”

“Who were your parents?” inquired the Persian.

“I never knew them,” she replied. “I was stolen
from the Ionian coast by Greek pirates. I was a mere
infant when Phidias bought me.”

In a voice almost suffocated with emotion, Artaphernes
asked, “Were you then named Eudora?”

The maiden's heart began to flutter with a new and
and strange hope, as she replied, “No one knew my
name. In my childish prattle, I called myself Baby

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[figure description] Page 247.[end figure description]

The old man started from his seat—his color went
and came—and every joint trembled. He seemed to
make a strong effort to check some sudden impulse.
After collecting himself for a moment, he said, “Maiden,
you have the voice of one I dearly loved; and it
has stirred the deepest fountains of my heart. I pray
you, let me see your countenance.”

As Eudora threw off the veil, her long glossy hair
fell profusely over her neck and shoulders, and her
beautiful face was flushed with eager expectation.

The venerable Persian gazed at her for an instant,
and then clasped her to his bosom. The tears fell fast,
as he exclaimed, “Artaminta! My daughter! My
daughter! Image of thy blessed mother! I have
sought for thee throughout the world, and at last I
believed thee dead. My only child! My long-lost,
my precious one! May the blessing of Oromasdes be
upon thee.”

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Child, Lydia Maria Francis, 1802-1880 [1836], Philothea (Otis, Broaders & Co., Boston) [word count] [eaf046].
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