There were not a few war ships in the port and among them perfect giants of amazing size and unusual construction, but Hermon had already seen many similar ones. When, shortly after noon, the sun for a few brief moments pierced with scorching rays the dark curtain that shrouded it from sight, and then suddenly dense masses of clouds, driven from the sea by the tempest, covered the day star, his eyes and cars were engrossed entirely by the uproar of the elements. The air darkened as if night was falling at this noontide hour, and with savage fury the foaming mountain waves rushed like mad wild beasts in fierce assault upon the mole, the walls, and the dikes of the fortified port. “Home!” cried Thyone, and again entered the litter which she had left to inspect the new catapults. Althea, trembling, drew her peplos together as the storm swept her light figure before it, and, shrieking, struggled against the black slaves who tried to lift her upon the war elephant which had borne her here. Philotas gave his arm to Daphne. Hermon had ceased to notice her; he had just gone to his gray-haired host with the entreaty that he would give him a ship for the voyage to Tennis, where Myrtilus would need his assistance. “It is impossible in such weather,” was the reply. “Then I will ride!” cried Hermon resolutely, and Philippus scanned the son of his old friend and companion in arms with an expression of quiet satisfaction in his eyes, still sparkling brightly, and answered quickly, “You shall have two horses, my boy, and a guide who knows the road besides.” Then, turning swiftly to one of the officers who accompanied him, he ordered him to provide what was necessary. When, soon after, in the impluvium, the tempest tore the velarium that covered the open space from its rings, and the ladies endeavoured to detain Hermon, Philippus silenced them with the remark: “A disagreeable ride is before him, but what urges him on is pleasing to the gods. I have just ventured to send out a carrier dove,” he added, turning to the artist, “to inform Myrtilus that he may expect you before sunset. The storm comes from the cast, otherwise it would hardly reach the goal. Put even if it should be lost, what does it matter?” Thyone nodded to her old husband with a look of pleasure, and her eyes shone through tears at Hermon as she clasped his hand and, remembering her friend, his mother, exclaimed: “Go, then, you true son of your father, and tell your friend that we will offer sacrifices for his welfare.” “A lean chicken to Aesculapius,” whispered the grammateus to Althea. “She holds on to the oboli.” “Which, at any rate, would be hard enough to dispose of in this wretched place unless one were a dealer in weapons or a thirsty sailor,” sighed the Thracian. “As soon as the sky and sea are blue again, chains could not keep me here. And the cooing around this insipid rich beauty into the bargain!”