“Thou art,” she said, “the most skilled of all physicians, and thou knowest well that time is the best drug for the uneasy mind. Forgive my weakness. The Greeks of all people are the greatest lovers of their native cities, and I, a Grecian maiden, cannot see why they should be destroyed. But I will listen to reason. Why, if I love thee, should we not live here, and happily rule this city, regardless of the rest of the world? Why not leave thy dread ancestors to their sleep?” She spoke to him with a soft enticing voice, and looked up to him as to a superior. “Daphne,” replied Thoth, “I have already yielded to thee the utmost that my nature will permit. It is useless to ask more. For two thousand years my race have toiled incessantly to create a new world. They await their reward. If I raise them from their sleep, they will never consent to forego their plans. If I raise them not—but I tell thee that is impossible. Rise they must, now all is ready, as surely as rises the sun.” Love yielded in his eyes to fixed determination, and Daphne’s heart sank within her. “The task I have already agreed to,” he continued, “is wellnigh hopeless. They will never admit women to an honourable place, unless they are assured beyond doubt that the choice lies between love and death. I must prove that my love for thee, in spite of generations of hatred towards women by my fathers, is stronger than ever love was, and also that their attempts to crush it have crushed at the same time life and reason. I will strain every fibre to have thee recognised as queen—but queen thou must be, first of all, of one city alone in a desolate world. And, mark my words, if ever this is to be accomplished, thou must aid me with courage and with a love equal to mine own. I must set thee before these men—face to face—and thou must say and do as I bid thee. If we fail, there is no alternative but instant death.” Daphne, still clinging to hope, replied—“I know little of thy race, and my wisdom is dense ignorance compared to thy wisdom. But, tell me, canst thou not begin with the living—with them who have not yet entered on their long sleep? Why should not thy fellow-rulers, as at first was thy intention, seek for equal companions? There are many maidens in Greece less difficult to please than I. Persuade or compel thy followers to do as thou hast done, and then thou canst show thine ancestors how well the plan has succeeded—after thirty years—or twenty.” “I cannot,” he replied, “make such a change of policy without the consent of my great ancestor and his successors.” “Then,” she said, “even thy union with me must rest on their consent, and yet thou didst speak as if thou wouldst compel them to submit.” “But I said, by force of reason and will. Know, once for all, that unless they approve of my conduct, I will not proceed.” “And what is to be my fate, supposing they do not consent? Thou wouldst not leave me to perish?”