As he beheld the vision of young Helen, the Wanderer too grew young
again. But as he gazed with the eyes and loved with the first love of a
boy, she melted like a mist, and out of the mist came another vision. He
saw himself, disguised as a beggar, beaten and bruised, yet seated in a
long hall bright with gold, while a woman bathed his feet, and anointed
his head with oil. And the face of the woman was the face of the maiden,
and even more beautiful, but sad with grief and with an ancient shame.
Then he remembered how once he had stolen into Troy town from the camp
of the Achæans, and how he had crept in a beggar's rags within the house
of Priam to spy upon the Trojans, and how Helen, the fairest of women,
had bathed him, and anointed him with oil, and suffered him to go in
peace, all for the memory of the love that was between them of old. As
he gazed, that picture faded and melted in the mist, and again he bowed
his head, and kneeled by the golden altar of the Goddess, crying:

"Where beneath the sunlight dwells the golden Helen?" For now he had
only one desire: to look on Helen again before he died.

Then the voice of the Goddess seemed to whisper in his ear:

"Did I not say truth, Odysseus? Wast not thou my servant for one hour,
and did not Love save thee in the city of the Trojans on that night when
even Wisdom was of no avail?"

He answered: "Yea, O Queen!"

"Behold then," said the voice, "I would again have mercy and be kind to
thee, for if I aid thee not thou hast no more life left among men. Home,
and kindred, and native land thou hast none; and, but for me, thou