When she heard the sure proofs Ulysses now gave her, she fairly broke down.  She flew weeping to his side, flung her arms about his neck, and kissed him.  “Do not be angry with me Ulysses,” she cried, “you, who are the wisest of mankind.  We have suffered, both of us.  Heaven has denied us the happiness of spending our youth, and of growing old, together; do not then be aggrieved or take it amiss that I did not embrace you thus as soon as I saw you.  I have been shuddering all the time through fear that someone might come here and deceive me with a lying story; for there are many very wicked people going about.  Jove’s daughter Helen would never have yielded herself to a man from a foreign country, if she had known that the sons of Achaeans would come after her and bring her back.  Heaven put it in her heart to do wrong, and she gave no thought to that sin, which has been the source of all our sorrows.  Now, however, that you have convinced me by showing that you know all about our bed (which no human being has ever seen but you and I and a single maidservant, the daughter of Actor, who was given me by my father on my marriage, and who keeps the doors of our room) hard of belief though I have been I can mistrust no longer.”

Then Ulysses in his turn melted, and wept as he clasped his dear and faithful wife to his bosom.  As the sight of land is welcome to men who are swimming towards the shore, when Neptune has wrecked their ship with the fury of his winds and waves; a few alone reach the land, and these, covered with brine, are thankful when they find themselves on firm ground and out of danger—­even so was her husband welcome to her as she looked upon him, and she could not tear her two fair arms from about his neck.  Indeed they would have gone on indulging their sorrow till rosy-fingered morn appeared, had not Minerva determined otherwise, and held night back in the far west, while she would not suffer Dawn to leave Oceanus, nor to yoke the two steeds Lampus and Phaethon that bear her onward to break the day upon mankind.

At last, however, Ulysses said, “Wife, we have not yet reached the end of our troubles.  I have an unknown amount of toil still to undergo.  It is long and difficult, but I must go through with it, for thus the shade of Teiresias prophesied concerning me, on the day when I went down into Hades to ask about my return and that of my companions.  But now let us go to bed, that we may lie down and enjoy the blessed boon of sleep.”

“You shall go to bed as soon as you please,” replied Penelope, “now that the gods have sent you home to your own good house and to your country.  But as heaven has put it in your mind to speak of it, tell me about the task that lies before you.  I shall have to hear about it later, so it is better that I should be told at once.”