“It might be well,” said Menelaus, “to offer further sacrifices at this time. I had considered that also, but there is nothing here of any value to sacrifice. In Egypt, as you suggest, we can secure rich offerings, and I had already resolved to do so at the earliest convenient moment. You may now launch the boat—unless, of course, there is something further?”

They hastened down to their fellows, and Menelaus turned toward Helen.

“I hope you won’t keep us waiting. This talk has somewhat delayed my plans.”

Thonis gave them food to store in the boat, and cattle for the sacrifice, with bowls of dark wine. In the sight of them all Menelaus drew the pitiless knife with certain flourishes of irritation across the throats of the victims, and they fell gasping to the ground. Then he turned the wine from the bowls into cups, and poured it forth, and prayed in an incisive voice to the gods.

“O Zeus, most glorious, most great, O Athena, wise and terrible, O all ye immortal beings! Now do your works in the light, that men may look on justice. Punish the guilty and reward the good. Who among us have sinned against you let them starve on the sea rocks or drown in the waters. But those who with pure hearts have done your will, bring us soon to our own people!”

And the wind blew them all safe and sound to Sparta.

V

“Menelaus,” said Eteoneus, the old gate-keeper, “I’ve hoped for a few minutes of your time ever since you came home. You’ve been absent a long while, and I dare say you’ll want a report of the household.”

“Nothing wrong, is there?” said Menelaus.

“Orestes has been here.”

“Oh—my brother’s son,” said Menelaus.

“Yes,” said Eteoneus, “and I might add, your wife’s sister’s son.”

“What do you mean by that?” said Menelaus.

“I mean,” said Eteoneus, “I had some doubt whether I ought to let him in.”

“It seems to me,” said Menelaus, “you imply something rude about my wife’s relatives.”

“To tell you the truth,” said Eteoneus, “I had no idea, until you returned, that you still counted your wife among your relatives.”

“You forget yourself,” said Menelaus.

“No, Menelaus,” said Eteoneus, “it’s an awkward subject, but we’ll have to face it. I have to, at any rate; I’m partly responsible. When Paris came, I let him in. What happened afterwards we all know—at least, we know the events, but some of us are at a loss to interpret them. You entertained Paris, of course, without question as to what he came for, and he stole your wife. Naturally you went off for your revenge, and I may say that none of us who stayed at home expected to see Helen again, certainly not restored to your esteem. If you would explain the new situation to us—give us at least a hint as to what our attitude should be toward her, it would relieve what is at present an embarrassment to your domestics.”