He was still clothed in his
beggar's rags, and strangely disfigured by the magic power of Athene;
while the red stains of slaughter, which still lay thick upon him,
served to render his disguise yet deeper. Small wonder then that
Penelope hesitated long to acknowledge him for her husband, as she sat
some way off scanning his features with timid yet attentive gaze, like
one who strives to decipher a blurred and blotted manuscript. More
than once she started up, as if about to fall upon his neck; then the
gleam which had lighted up her face died away, her arms drooped
listlessly at her side, and she remained motionless and cold.
When this had lasted for some time, Telemachus, who was present,
rebuked his mother in angry terms, saying: "Fie upon thee, my mother!
hast thou no heart at all? Why holdest thou thus aloof from my father,
who has come back to thee after twenty years of suffering and toil?
But 'twas ever thus with thee--thou art harder than stone."
"My child," answered Penelope, "I am sore amazed; I cannot speak, or
ask any question, or look him in the face. But if this man be indeed
my husband, he knows how to convince me, and scatter all my doubts to
the winds, for there are secrets between us whereof no one knoweth,
save only ourselves."
Odysseus smiled at his wife's caution. "Not in vain," he thought, "is
she known to all the world as the prudent Penelope.
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