No hope seems left to the heartbroken, faithful wife. Even her son has
grown impatient at the waste of his goods, and urges her to make the
hard choice, and the hateful hour is at hand which will part her for
ever from the scene of her brief wedded joy.
[Illustration: Penelope]
II
It was the hour of noon, and the sun was beating hot on the rocky
hills of Ithaca, when a solitary wayfarer was seen approaching the
outer gateway which led into the courtyard of Odysseus' house. He was
a man of middle age, dressed like a chieftain, and carrying a long
spear in his hand. Passing through the covered gateway he halted
abruptly, and gazed in astonishment at the strange sight which met his
eyes. All was noise and bustle in the courtyard, where a busy troop of
servants were preparing the materials for a great feast. Some were
carrying smoking joints of roast meat, others were filling huge bowls
with wine and water, and others were washing the tables and setting
them out to dry. In the portico before the house sat a great company
of young nobles, comely of aspect, and daintily attired, taking their
ease on couches of raw ox-hide, and playing at draughts to while away
the time until the banquet should be ready. Loud was their talk, and
boisterous their laughter, as of men who have no respect for
themselves or for others. "Surely this was the house of Odysseus,"
murmured the stranger to himself, "but now it seems like a den of
thieves.
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