“How canst thou talk thus, old man?” interrupted the youth. “But never mind. I have come to thee to find out whether my mother has listened to one of the suitors and left my poor house.” “No, indeed,” answered Eumæus. “She still sits and weeps away her days and nights in thy palace. Thou wilt find her as thou didst leave her.” The two now entered the hut, and the unknown beggar whose heart was beating with joy at the sight of his handsome son controlled himself with difficulty. With the deference of the poor he arose from his couch to give place to the stranger, but Telemachus prevented him, saying: “Sit still, stranger. I will find a seat somewhere.” Eumæus brought out the remains of the meal and they all sat down to eat and drink. At length Telemachus said: “Now, father Eumæus, do thou go to the city for me and bring the news secretly to Penelope that I am safely returned from Pylos. But take care that no suitor hears it, for many enemies are plotting against me.” “Be it so,” said the herdsman, putting on his sandals and taking up his staff. Ulysses was still looking after him, when he saw through the half-opened gate the figure of a tall, slender maiden, beckoning to him. The dogs slunk into the corners, but Telemachus did not perceive the apparition. Ulysses divined that it was the goddess and went out to the gateway. “Noble son of Laertes,” Athene addressed him, “the time has now come for thee to reveal thyself to thy son. Take counsel with him how ye may make an end of the suitors. I shall soon be with you.” While speaking she touched him with her golden staff and instantly his beggar’s dress was transformed into a fine purple cloak and his wrinkled face into a fresh manly countenance and the bald head was covered with shining brown locks. He reëntered the hut, from which he had just issued in rags, looking like a king. Telemachus gazed at him in astonishment and said, uncertainly: “Stranger, how changed thou art. Ah, I feel that a god approaches. Be merciful to us, thou holy one. Gladly will we sacrifice to thee and bring thee gifts.” “No,” cried Ulysses, “I am not a god. I am the father for whom thou hast mourned so long. I am Ulysses.” Joyfully he clasped his son in his arms and kissed him. “Doubt no longer, dear son,” continued Ulysses. “It was not I who worked the miracle, but Athene, who is with me. The gods can do all things; they can glorify or disfigure a mortal according to their pleasure. Yes, it is I, Ulysses, who have been wandering afar for twenty years, and thou art my beloved son. I have found my greatest happiness in holding thee here in my arms.” He could say no more for sobbing. Father and son wept for some time, closely clasping each other. Ever and anon they would gaze silently at each other, then break out in tears of joy and gratitude.