One thing became daily more obvious to her and to all who saw him. The continual questions he was called upon to answer, and the distant places of the earth he was required to visit, exhausted the little bodily strength he possessed. The priests at the neighbouring temple of Æsculapius said he needed more quiet, and ought to drink a strong decoction of vervain, gathered when the moonlight rested on it. He himself, when questioned, during his miraculous slumbers, declared that the air of the valleys was not good for him. Therefore his friends removed him to a residence among the hills. Praxinoë made no objection; for though her spiritualized mate failed to call forth all the warmth of her loving nature, she had a friendly feeling for him, and would gladly have done any thing for the recovery of his health. But the change was by no means agreeable to her lively disposition. She liked to live where she could see festive processions passing with garlands, and gaily dressed youths and maidens dancing to the sound of cymbals and flutes. News from the city became more rare; for Hermotimus recovered his health, and with it lost what was called his gift of prophecy; consequently, visitors came less and less frequently. Urged by Praxinoë, the diseased one sometimes tried to render himself practically useful. But his heart was in such occupations even less than it had formerly been. Companionship with philosophers had excited his intellect, and induced the habit of watching his own soul with intense interest. He was absorbed in reverie most of the time, and Prytane, who came occasionally to see him, was the only person with whom he conversed freely. Their conversation was more wearisome to Praxinoë than his dreamy silence. She said they might be as wise as owls, for all she knew to the contrary, but that _she_ could see no more sense in their talk, than she did in the hooting of those solemn birds of darkness. In another respect, Hermotimus seemed to her like an owl. His eyes became so nervously sensitive to light, that he winked continually in the sunshine, and was prone to seek the shelter of grottoes and shady groves. His childish habit of vivid dreams returned; and the explanation of these dreams occupied his thoughts continually. One morning, he told Praxinoë he had dreamed that she held in her hand a crystal globe, that reflected all things in the universe; that she threw it into the flames, where it cracked asunder, and there rose from it a radiant Spirit, with large white wings. She laughed, and said if she had such a globe, she would not break it till she had taken a peep at Corinth, to see the embroidered silks and golden girdles that the women wore there. He was thinking of the winged Spirit, and her remark passed through his ears without reaching his mind. Had he listened to the observation, it would have seemed to him very much like looking through the universe to watch a butterfly.