“I think Robin knows.”

CHAPTER XVII

Not many days later, when the green valley of Olympia was wrapped in the peace of a sunlit afternoon, and a faint breeze drew from the pine trees on the hills of Kronos a murmur as of distant voices whispering the message of Eternity, the keeper of the house of the Hermes was disturbed in a profound reverie by the sound of slow footfalls not far from his dwelling.  He stirred, lifted his head and stared vaguely about him.  No travelers had come of late to the shrine he guarded.  Hermes had been alone with the child upon his arm, dreaming of its unclouded future with the serenity of one who had trodden the paths where the gods walk, and who could rise at will above the shadowed ways along which men creep in anxiety, dreading false steps and the luring dangers of their fates.  Hermes had been alone with his happy burden, forgotten surely by the world which his delicate majesty ignored without disdain.  But now pilgrims, perhaps from a distant land, were drawing near to look upon him, to spend a little while in the atmosphere of his shining calm, perhaps to learn something of the message he had to give to those who were capable of receiving it.

A man and a woman, moving slowly side by side, came into the patch of strong sunshine which made a glory before the house, paused there and stood still.

From the shadow in which he was sitting the guardian examined them with the keen eyes of one who had looked upon travelers of many nations.  He knew at once that the woman was English.  As for the man—­yes, probably he was English too, Dark, lean, wrinkled, he was no doubt an Englishman who had been much away from his own country, which the guardian conceived of as wrapped in perpetual fogs and washed by everlasting rains.

The guardian stared hard at this man, then turned his bright eyes again upon the woman.  As he looked at her some recollection began to stir in his mind.

Not many travelers came twice to the green recesses of Elis.  He was accustomed to brief acquaintanceships, closed by small gifts of money, and succeeded by farewells which troubled his spirit not at all.  But this woman seemed familiar to him; and even the man——­

He got up from his seat and went towards them.

As he came into the sunlight the woman saw him and smiled.  And, when she smiled, he knew he had seen her before.  The deep gravity of her face as she approached had nearly tricked his memory, but now he remembered all about her.  She was the beautiful fair Englishwoman who had camped on the hill of Drouva not so many years ago, who had gone out shooting with that young rascal, Dirmikis, and who had spent solitary hours wrapt in contemplation of the statue whose fame doubtless had brought her to Elis.

Not so many years ago!  But was this the man the husband who had been with her then, and who had evidently been deeply in love with her?