All the distinguished people in the capital have gathered on the sacred
soil of the Temple of Poseidon. There is Archias, too; there are the
artists and the famous gentlemen of the Museum, the members of the
Ephebi, and the priests of the great gods."

Hermon listened with his hand pressed on his breast, and while doing so
the power of his imagination showed the vast, harmoniously noble
structure of the many-pillared Temple of Poseidon, surrounded by as many
thousands as there were in reality hundreds. From all parts of the
sanctuary, even from the tops of the roofs, he beheld laurel branches and
kerchiefs waving and tossing, and wreaths flung on the ground before him.
If this picture was correct, the whole city was greeting him, headed by
the men whom he honoured as great and meritorious, and in front of them
all Daphne, with drooping head, full of feminine grace and heart-winning
goodness.

While the chorus continued their song, and the welcoming shouts grew
louder, the brilliant picture faded away, but in return he felt friendly
arms clasp him. First Archias, then Proclus, and after him a succession
of fellow-artists-the greatest of all--drew him into a warm embrace.

Finally he felt himself led away, placed his feet as his Uncle Archias
whispered directions, and as they gropingly obeyed them ascended the
temple steps and stood in utter darkness upon the platform listening to
the speeches which so many had prepared.

All the distinguished men in the city expressed their sympathy, their
pity, their admiration, their hopes, or sent assurances of them to him.
The Rhodian Chrysippus, despatched by the Queen, delivered the wreath
which the monarch bestowed, and informed Hermon, with her greetings, that