She saw him coming!—­The plume of his helmet first came in sight above the bushes, and then his whole figure emerged from among the shrubbery.  She leaned against the pillar for support now, for her knees trembled under her.  Tall and stately, his armor blazing in the sunshine, he came straight towards her—­a man, a hero—­exactly as her fancy had painted him in many a dark and sleepless hour.  As he passed her mother’s tomb, she felt as though a cold hand laid a grip on her beating heart.  In a swift flash of thought she saw her own home with its wealth and splendor, and then the ship-builder’s house-simple, chillingly bare, with its comfortless rooms; she felt as though she must perish, nipped and withered, in such a home.  Again she thought of him standing on his father’s threshold, she fancied she could hear his bright boyish laugh and her heart glowed once more.  She forgot for the moment—­clear-headed woman though she was, and trained by her philosopher to “know herself”—­ she forgot what she had fully acknowledged only the night before:  That he would no more give up his Christ than she would her Isis, and that if they should ever reach the dreamed-of pinnacle of joy it must be for an instant only, followed by a weary length of misery.  Yes—­she forgot everything; doubts and fears were cast aside; as his approaching footsteps fell on her ear, she could hardly keep herself from flying, open armed, to meet him.

He was standing before her; she offered him her hand with frank gladness, and, as he clasped it in his, their hearts were too full for words.  Only their eyes gave utterance to their feelings, and when he perceived that hers were sparkling through tears, he spoke her name once, twice—­ joyfully and yet doubtfully, as if he dared not interpret her emotion as he would.  She laid her left hand lightly on his which still grasped her right, and said with a brilliant smile:  “Welcome, Constantine, welcome home!  How glad I am to see you back again!”

“And I—­and I...” he began, greatly moved.

“O Gorgo!  Can it really be years since we parted?”

“Yes, indeed,” she said.  “Anxious, busy, struggling years!”

“But to-day we celebrate the festival of Peace,” he exclaimed fervently.  “I have learnt to leave every man to go his own way so long as I am allowed to go mine.  The old strife is buried; take me as I am and I, for my part, will think only of the noble and beautiful traits in which your nature is so rich.  The fruit of all wholesome strife must be peace; let us pluck that fruit, Gorgo, and enjoy it together.  Ah! as I stand here and gaze out over the gardens and the lake, hearing the hammers of the shipwrights, and rejoicing in your presence, I feel as though our childhood might begin all over again—­only better, fuller and more beautiful!”

“If only my brothers were here!”

“I saw them,”

“Oh! where?”

“At Thessalonica, well and happy—­I have letters for you from them.”