Startled by the touch, Helena rather indignantly turned round to reprove him for taking such a liberty, but the words died on her lips, as she saw the handsome face of this man, irradiated with passionate love, bending towards her. Tall and straight as a cypress, his lithe figure gracefully draped in a white robe, he looked like some gracious deity of the past, wooing a mortal maiden, while the burning gaze of his eyes seemed to scorch her with its ardor. It was the animal look in them that thus made her flush hotly, and, with a sudden movement of outraged virginal dignity, she retreated slowly towards the silver pool of the fountain. “Do not shrink from me like that, Helena!” murmured Caliphronas in Greek, as he came towards her lightly as a fawn. “I wish to tell you the meaning of the bird’s song.” “What do you mean, Andros?” she asked uneasily. “Do you think Aristophanes understood it?” pursued the Greek, taking no notice of her question; “he put it into words, you know. Tio! tio! tio-tiolix—No, that is not the song, but a mere assemblage of words. What is the divine nightingale now singing? Can you not guess? It is of love—of love—of love! My love for you—your love for me, my queen. Hark! out the strains gush rapturously through the night—it is speaking of love eternal—my love for thee, joy of my heart!” “You jest, Andros!” said Helena faintly, not at all liking the tone of this poetical rhapsody. “Jest!” cried Caliphronas, ardently seizing her hand; “no, I speak true to you, rose of this isle! I love you! I worship you! I desire you for my wife!” “Your wife!” she echoed, snatching her hand away. “Are you mad?” “With love of thee—yes!” “Do not touch me, sir. How dare you insult me!” “Insult!” said Caliphronas, starting as if he were stung. “What do you mean, girl? Is the offer of a man’s heart an insult?” “You are surely not in earnest,” said the girl, much perplexed what to say. “I had no idea you loved me!” “I am in earnest, and I do love you,” declared Caliphronas with fiery energy, coming so close to her that she could feel his hot breath on her cheek. “You must have seen my passion long since. I want you to be my wife—your father and I have settled it between us.” It was the worst speech that he could have made, for Helena, with a cry of rage, pushed him fiercely back, and stood before him with clinched hands, her eyes bright with indignation. “How dare you! how dare you! Am I not to be consulted in the matter—do you think I will allow myself to be handed over to you like a slave? Never! I would rather die! I will not be your wife! I refuse to listen to you!” “But you do not understand,” said Caliphronas, rather crestfallen at this sudden outburst of anger. “I do understand. You have spoken to my father, and he has permitted you to ask me to be your wife, but, as to its being settled—how dare you! I will not be your wife! Don’t you dare to suggest such a thing to me!”