And then before her she saw the inevitable two paths: the broad flat path that passed through a fair orchard of lemon trees, where the sunlight threw chequers on to the grass beneath, starred with scarlet and purple anemones; and the narrow stony track, terribly steep, which toiled away up the bare hillside in heat radiated from the rocks. Never had the soft sounds been so insistent; a myriad gentle hands were trying to steer her, even to push her by force, toward the lemon trees. She saw the folly of them so very clearly; and her foot was actually raised to take the first step up the hill path, when she felt the feather turn of itself in her hand, and she became ice from head to foot as she realized that she had all but destroyed herself by despising her opponents. They had striven this time to force her into the _true_ path, believing that she would certainly take the opposite one. She saw now the end of the fatal hill path, the sudden crumbling precipice which flung men on to pointed rocks far below; and the air behind her became full of woe, voiceless wailings and silent howls of rage, and she saw what she had fought against; a troop of small formless black things, like immature bats, with pale fingers, that fled moaning down the path of the sunlight. She knew now that they would not vex her again. She passed on through the lemon orchard, and out on to a bare hillside, rough with stones and dotted here and there with great oak trees; plants of asphodel were thrusting their blossoms up among the coarse tufts of grass, and far below, in all its laughing splendor, lay the sea. And as she turned the shoulder of the hill she saw the temple, a fair Doric temple of gray marble, standing in lonely beauty among the scattered oak trees. Its metopes were carved with the figures of gods and heroes of an older day, and round it ran a frieze of warriors who fought with Amazon women. The singing was just over, it seemed; and the double choir of white-robed girls, who had been giving strophe and antistrophe of some festival ode, had broken into groups, these playing at ball, those reclining in the shade or strolling about with their arms round each other's waists. In her chair in the cool portico sat the fair-faced matronly priestess, still crowned with red roses, and before her two little boys poured wine into a crystal goblet. And as she saw Fiona she rose from her chair and greeted her by name, calling her happy that she had now come safely through the path of danger and that her troubles were ended. "Come here to us," she said, "and rest, for it is but a little way now that you must go, and there is ample time; slake your thirst at this crystal goblet, and lie awhile in the shade, while these maidens crown you with flowers."