Arachne | Page 9

your age, and it is alien to many all their lives. But the stars! From
them, the least and the greatest, man can learn to go his way patiently,
year by year. Always the same course and the same pace. No deviation
even one hair's breadth, no swifter or slower movement for the
unresting wanderers. No sudden wrath, no ardent desire, no weariness
or aversion urges or delays them. How I love and honour them! They
willingly submit to the great law until the end of all things. What they
appoint for this hour is for it alone, not for the next one. Everything in
the vast universe is connected with them. Whoever should delay their
course a moment would make the earth reel. Night would become day,
the rivers would return to their sources. People would walk on their
heads instead of their feet, joy would be transformed to sorrow and
power to servitude. Therefore, child, the full moon has a different effect
from the waxing or waning one during the other twenty-nine nights of
the month. To ask of one what belongs to another is to expect an
answer from the foreigner who does not understand your language.

How young you are, child, and how foolish! To question the cords for
you in the moonlight now is to expect to gather grapes from thorns.
Take my word for that!"
Here she interrupted the words uttered with so much difficulty, and
with her blackish-blue cotton dress wiped her perspiring face, strangely
flushed by the exertion and the firelight.
Ledscha had listened with increasing disappointment.
The wise old dame was doubtless right, yet before she ventured to the
sculptor's workshop the next day she must know at every cost how
matters stood, what she had to fear or to hope from him; so after a brief
silence she ventured to ask the question, "But are there only the stars
and the cords which predict what fate holds in store for one who is so
nearly allied to you?"
"No, child, no," was the reply. "But nothing can be clone about looking
into the future now. It requires rigid fasting from early dawn, and I ate
the dates you brought me. I inhaled the odor of the roasting ducks, too,
and then--it must be done at midnight; and at midnight your people will
be anxious if you are not at home by that time, or perhaps send a slave
to seek you here at my house, and that--that must not be done--I must
prevent it."
"So you are expecting some one," Ledscha eagerly replied. "And I
know who it is. Your son Satabus, or one of your grandsons. Else why
are the ducks cooked? And for what is the wine jar which I just took
from its hiding place?"
A vehement gesture of denial from Tabus contradicted the girl's
conjecture; but directly after she scanned her with a keen, searching
glance, and said: "No, no. We have nothing to fear from you, surely.
Poor Abus! Through him you will always belong to us. In spite of the
Greek, ours you are and ours you will remain. The stars confirm it, and
you have always been faithful to the old woman. You are shrewd and
steadfast. You would have been the right mate for him who was also
wise and firm. Poor, dear, brave boy! But why pity him? Because the

salt waves now flow over him? Fools that we are! There is nothing
better than death, for it is peace. And almost all of them have found it.
Of nine sons and twenty grandsons, only three are left. The others are
all calm after so much conflict and danger. How long ago it is since
seven perished at once! The last three their turn will come too. How I
envy them that best of blessings, only may they not also go before me!"
Here she lowered her voice, and in a scarcely audible whisper
murmured: "You shall know it. My son Satabus, with his brave boys
Hanno and Labaja, are coming later in the evening. About midnight--if
ye protect them, ye powers above--they will be with me. And you,
child, I know your soul to its inmost depths. Before you would betray
the last of Abus's kindred--"
"My hand and tongue should wither!" Ledscha passionately interrupted,
and then, with zealous feminine solicitude, she asked whether the three
ducks would suffice to satisfy the hunger of these strong men.
The old woman smiled and pointed to a pile of fresh leaves heaped one
above another, beneath which lay several fine shad. They were not to
be cooked until the expected visitors arrived, and she had plenty of
bread besides.
In the presence of these proofs of maternal solicitude the morose,
wrinkled countenance of the