two water-jars on the ground--now she briskly lifted the bucket and
filled the vessel she held in her left hand--now she looked towards the
eastern horizon, where the dim light of dawn grew broader and brighter,
and Lysias thought he recognized Irene--and now--Praised be the gods! he
was sure; before him stood the younger and not the elder sister; the very
maiden whom he sought.

Still half concealed by the acacia-shrub, and in a soft voice so as not
to alarm her, he called Irene's name, and the poor child's blood froze
with terror, for never before had she been startled by a man here, and at
this hour. She stood as if rooted to the spot, and, trembling with
fright, she pressed the cold, wet, golden jar, sacred to the god, closely
to her bosom.

Lysias repeated her name, a little louder than before, and went on, but
in a subdued voice:

"Do not be frightened, Irene; I am Lysias, the Corinthian--your friend,
whose pomegranate-blossom you wore yesterday, and who spoke to you after
the procession. Let me bid you good morning!"

At these words the girl let her hand fall by her side, still holding the
jar, and pressing her right hand to her heart, she exclaimed, drawing a
deep breath:

"How dreadfully you frightened me! I thought some wandering soul was
calling me that had not yet returned to the nether world, for it is not
till the sun rises that spirits are scared away."

"But it cannot scare men of flesh and blood whose purpose is good.