“But he is paid well for his services,” said the mother. “I would rather that he received less and were home more. I like not Sejanus,” said Alcmaeon, thoughtfully. “Hast thou seen Gannon to-day, my father?” asked Psyche. “I saw him only yesterday.” “Said he naught of us?” questioned the mother. “Ay, O Hera. He asked for thee, and thee, too, Psyche. He said only a few words; but they were happy ones. After he had gone, they seemed to me to have come from the smiling lips of his soul. Ah! if it would not break his heart, I would take him away from the camp.” “When he next comes home, let us ask him to leave the camp,” said Hera. “Dost thou remember, O my Hera, the night he told us of his promotion? Then he spoke with difficulty; joy choked his words. His handsome young face was as radiant as that of Apollo, who drives the sun on its daily course. To have stemmed the flood of his enthusiasm at that time would have been an outrage. In his roseate view of the future he had us all transported back to the country of our fathers,--back to Corinth, to the city that was the glory of the Hellenes.” “Verily he shall accomplish his purpose!” exclaimed Psyche, her face flushing with the reflection of her father’s deep emotion. “Ay, few boys are as buoyant and hopeful as Gannon,” replied Alcmaeon. “He is a thorough Greek. He knows well the history, the language, and the religion of our beloved country. He is a true son of the Iliad.” “Ay, my Alcmaeon, a true son of the Iliad, and a true son of our ancestors,” added Hera. “With joy I shall welcome the day when I go to Corinth,” said Psyche, with enthusiasm. “When shalt thou go?” asked Alcmaeon. “I know not; but I have the promise of Gyges to go there with me some day. Thou knowest that his ancestors were also of Corinth.” “Before I married thy mother, O Psyche,” said Alcmaeon, “my father took me to Corinth. A desire had always burned in me to see that glorious city. A relation having died, we went to collect a legacy. We sailed from Brundusium. The boat was crowded with passengers. Never shall I forget the day when we sailed from the Ionian Sea into the Corinthian Gulf, between the islands Zacynthus and Cephallenia. As we floated into the heart of the Iliad, my feelings were preternatural. It seemed as if my heart were like a sail which, being swollen by the breath of religion, drew my soul into a haven of peace. “It was near sundown,” continued Alcmaeon. “The sea was calm. The bireme seemed to float quickly along, like a bird skimming the surface of the water. The oar-tortured waves grew white with foamy bubbles. A poet’s eye could have seen in those waters the breasts and happy faces of wandering nereids. Across the water the shadow of Ithaca’s crags extended over the ship. Through that shadow, as through a violet mist, I saw the glory of Odysseus.