Penelope’s tears flowed fast as she listened to that cunning fiction, which seemed to bring her husband before her eyes.  Odysseus watched her, with eyes set like horn or iron, as she sat before him sobbing and rocking herself to and fro; but his heart grew big within him, and he could hardly keep back his own tears.  At length she grew calmer, and wishing to try him, asked him this searching question:  “If thou didst indeed entertain my husband in thy house, tell me what manner of man he was, and what garments he had on, and who they were that attended him.”

“It is hard,” answered Odysseus, “to tell thee of what thou askest, after twenty years; nevertheless I will attempt to call up his image from the past.  He wore a purple woollen cloak, of two folds, and it was held by a golden brooch with a double clasp; and on the brooch was fashioned a hound, holding in his jaws a fawn; and so skilfully was it wrought that the figures seemed to live, the fawn struggling to escape, and the hound clenching his fangs to hold him—­so rare a piece it was.  Under his cloak, Odysseus wore a close-fitting tunic, which glistened like the peel of a dried onion; for very soft and fine was the texture.  I cannot tell whether these were the garments which he had on when he left you; it may be that they were a gift received on his voyage, for he had many friends.  Even so I gave him a sword of bronze and a mantle, and a fringed tunic, when I bade him adieu.  Further, I would have thee know that he had a squire with him, somewhat older than himself, a round-shouldered man, dark of complexion, and with curling hair.  His name was Eurybates, and Odysseus held him in high regard.”

What were the emotions of Penelope, when she heard the raiment and ornaments which her husband was wearing the last time she saw him thus described down to the minutest detail!  For a long time she remained silent, overpowered by her feelings; and when she spoke again there was a ring of sincere warmth and friendliness in her voice.  “I pitied thee before,” she said, “seeing thee thus forlorn, but now thou shalt be my dear and honoured guest, for I know that thou hast spoken the truth.  These garments, and the golden brooch, were a gift from my own hands to my dear lord.  Alas!  I shall never see him again.  Cursed be the day that parted me from him, and sent him to the land of Troy, that name abhorred of my soul!”

“Lady,” answered Odysseus, “no one could blame thee, or say that thou sorrowest beyond measure, for such a husband as thine.  He was indeed a man of rare and god-like gifts.  Nevertheless be comforted; for ere many days are passed thou wilt see him here, safe and sound, and loaded with the wealth which he has gathered in his wanderings.”  Then he went on to repeat the story which he had already told to Eumaeus, with some further facts, drawn from his own experience in the last ten years; and concluded with this solemn adjuration:  “Witness, this hearth of Odysseus, to which I am come, and witness Zeus, the supreme lord of heaven, if I lie!  Ere yonder moon hath waned, Odysseus will be sitting under this roof.”