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,