"I know who you are," he said. "You are Io who was once a fair and happy
maiden in distant Argos; and now, because of the tyrant Jupiter and his
jealous queen, you are doomed to wander from land to land in that
unhuman form. But do not lose hope. Go on to the southward and then to
the west; and after many days you shall come to the great river Nile.
There you shall again become a maiden, but fairer and more beautiful
than before; and you shall become the wife of the king of that land, and
shall give birth to a son, from whom shall spring the hero who will
break my chains and set me free. As for me, I bide in patience the day
which not even Jupiter can hasten or delay. Farewell!"

Poor Io would have spoken, but she could not. Her sorrowful eyes looked
once more at the suffering hero on the peak, and then she turned and
began her long and tiresome journey to the land of the Nile.

Ages passed, and at last a great hero whose name was Hercules came to
the land of the Caucasus. In spite of Jupiter's dread thunderbolts and
fearful storms of snow and sleet, he climbed the rugged mountain peak;
he slew the fierce eagles that had so long tormented the helpless
prisoner on those craggy heights; and with a mighty blow, he broke the
fetters of Prometheus and set the grand old hero free.

"I knew that you would come," said Prometheus. "Ten generations ago I
spoke of you to Io, who was afterwards the queen of the land of the
Nile."

"And Io," said Hercules, "was the mother of the race from which I am
sprung."

[Illustration]