"Tributary for a sprinkling of water and a handful of earth. Well, my pride may revolt, too, from that tribute. But, alas! what is the tribute Sparta exacts from me now?--personal liberty--freedom of soul itself. The Mede's Tributary may be a king over millions; the Spartan Regent is a slave to the few."
"Cease--cease--cease. I will not hear thee," cried Cleonice, placing her hands on her ears.
Pausanias gently drew them away; and holding them both captive in the large clasp of his own right hand, gazed eagerly into her pure, unshrinking eyes.
"Tell me," he said, "for in much thou art wiser than I am, unjust though thou art. Tell me this. Look onward to the future with a gaze as steadfast as now meets mine, and say if thou canst discover any path, except that which it pleases thee to condemn, which may lead thee and me to the marriage altar!"
Down sank those candid eyes, and the virgin's cheek grew first rosy red, and then pale, as if every drop of blood had receded to the heart.
"Speak!" insisted Pausanias, softening his haughty voice to its meekest tone.
"I cannot see the path to the altar," murmured Cleonice, and the tears rolled down her cheeks.
"And if thou seest it not," returned Pausanias, "art thou brave enough to say--Be we lost to each other for life? I, though man and Spartan, am not brave enough to say that!"
He released her hands as he spoke, and clasped his own over his face. Both were long silent.
Alcman had for some moments watched the lovers with deep interest, and had caught into his listening ears the purport of their words. He now raised his lyre, and swept his hand over the chords. The touch was that of a master, and the musical sounds produced their effect on all. The handmaids paused from their work. Cleonice turned her eyes wistfully towards the Mothon. Pausanias drew his hands from his face, and cried joyously, "I accept the omen. Foster-brother, I have heard that measure to a Hymeneal Song. Sing us the words that go with the melody."
"Nay," said Alcman, gently, "the words are not those which are sung before youth and maiden when they walk over perishing flowers to bridal altars. They are the words which embody a legend of the land in which the heroes of old dwell, removed from earth, yet preserved from Hades."