The blue sea spread before them, the full moon mirrored on its scarcely heaving surface like a tremulous column of pure and shining silver.  The murmur of the ripples came up from the strand as soothing and inviting as the song of the Nereids; and if a white crest of foam rose on a wave, she could fancy it was the arm of Thetis or Galatea.  There, where the blue was deepest, the sea-god Glaukos must dwell, and his heart be gladdened by the merry doings on shore.

Nature is so great; and as the thought came to her that her heart was not too small to take its greatness in, even to the farthest horizon, it filled her with glad surprise.

And Nature was bountiful too.  Melissa could see the happy and gracious face of a divinity in everything she looked upon.  The immortals who had afflicted her, and whom she had often bitterly accused, could be kind and merciful too.  The sea, on whose shining surface the blue vault of heaven with the moon and stars rocked and twinkled, the soft breeze which fanned her brow, the new delicious longing which filled her heart-all she felt and was conscious of, was a divinity or an emanation of the divine.  Mighty Poseidon and majestic Zeus, gentle Selene, and the sportive children of the god of winds, seemed to be strangely near her as she rode along.  And it was the omnipotent son of Kypris, no doubt, who stirred her heart to beat higher than it had ever done before.

Her visit to her mother’s grave, too, her prayer and her offerings there, had perhaps moved the spirit of the beloved dead to hover near her now as a guardian genius.

Still, now and again the memory of something terrible passed over her soul like a sweeping shadow; but what it was which threatened her and those dear to her she did not see, and would not now inquire.  What the morrow might bring should not cloud the enchantment of this hour.  For oh, how fair the world was, and how blessed might mortals be!

“Iakchos!  Iakchos!” the voices about her shouted, and it sounded as gleeful as though the breasts of the revelers were overflowing with gladness; and as the scented curls of Diodoros bent over her head, as his hand closed on hers, and his whispered words of love were in her ear, she murmured:  “Alexander is right; the world is a banqueting-hall, and life is fair.”

“So fair!” echoed the youth, pensively.  Then he shouted aloud to his companions:  “The world is a banqueting-hall!  Bring roses, bring wine, that we may sacrifice to Eros, and pour libations to Dionysus.  Light the flaming torches!  Iakchos! come, Iakchos, and sanctify our glad festival!”

“Come, Iakchos, come!” cried one and another, and soon the enthusiastic youth’s cry was taken up on all sides.  But wine-skin and jar were long since emptied.

Hard by, below the cliff, and close to the sea, was a tavern, at the sign of the Cock.  Here cool drink was to be had; here the horses might rest-for the drivers had been grumbling bitterly at the heavy load added to the car over the deep sand—­and here there was a level plot, under the shade of a spreading sycamore, which had often before now served as a floor for the choric dance.