It struck her, too, now and then, that the strain had a ring as of thanksgiving.

It was, no doubt, addressed to the gods, and for that reason it appealed to her, and she would gladly have joined in it, for she, too, was grateful to the immortals, and above all to Eros, for the love which had been born in her heart and had found such an ardent return.

She sighed as she listened to every note of the chant, and it worked upon her like a healing draught.
The struggle of her will against bodily fatigue, and finally against the mental exhaustion of so much bliss, the conviction that her heavy, weary feet would perhaps fail to carry her home, and that she must seek shelter somewhere for the night, had disturbed her greatly.

Now she was quite calm, and as much at ease as she was at home sitting with her father, her stitching in her hand, while she dreamed of her mother and her childhood in the past.

The singing had fallen on her agitated soul like the oil poured by the mariner on the sea to still the foaming breakers.