courtyard there grew an olive-tree, a fair tree and a large, with a world of green leaves, and a stem like a stout pillar.  Round this I built the walls of the chamber with close-fitting stones, and roofed it over, and hung the door on its hinges.  Then I went to work on the tree, lopping off the boughs, and smoothing the trunk with the adze, so as to fashion it into a bedpost, and beginning from this I made the frame of a bed, and decorated it with gold and silver and ivory, and over the frame I stretched broad bands of ox-hide, stained with bright purple.  This I tell thee as a sign by which thou mayest know me.”

The last shadow was now removed, and before Odysseus had well ended what he was saying Penelope sprang towards him, threw her arms round his neck, and covered his face with kisses.  “Be not angry with me, my dear lord,” she murmured tenderly, “because I held back so long, and gave thee not loving welcome, as I do now.  Thou art very wise, and knowest the dangers which beset a lonely woman who is over hasty to believe when a stranger comes and calls himself her husband.  Many there be that lie in wait to lay snares for a weak and loving heart.  But now I know thee for mine own dear love, and now is the winter of my widowhood made glorious summer, since I have seen thy face again.”

So they sat locked in each other’s arms, that valiant, long-suffering man, and his faithful wife, two brave and patient souls, parted so long, and tried so hard, but now united once more in wedded love and bliss.  The hours went by unheeded, and day would have overtaken them in that trance of delight, had not Athene marked them with pity from her heavenly seat, and stayed the steeds of the morning in the east, and prolonged the reign of night, that the joy of that first meeting might not be broken until they had tasted all its honey to the lees.

Conclusion

I

Early next day Odysseus rose and donned his armour, and having charged Penelope to keep close in her chamber, and admit no one into the house, he set forth to visit Laertes on his farm, attended by Telemachus and the two faithful herdsmen, all armed to the teeth.  Arrived at the farmhouse he left his companions there, bidding them prepare the morning meal, and went out alone to find his father.  Passing through the courtyard gate, he entered a large plot of ground, planted by Laertes as a garden and orchard; and there he found the old man, who was digging about the roots of a young tree.  With strange emotions Odysseus noted every detail of his dress and figure—­the soiled and tattered coat, the gaiters of clouted leather, the old gauntlets on his hands, and the goatskin cap.  He who had once been the wealthiest prince in Ithaca had now the appearance of an ancient serving-man, broken down with years and toil.