Iris cast herself, face down, upon the soft grass at the foot of a great tree, rested her eyes upon her crossed arms and, at last, burst into sobs. For many days she had been sheltered only by the trees which lifted about her like columns, their interlaced branches softening the glare of day to a twilight and deepening the night into impenetrable darkness. For two days she had even tasted no food except a cake of wheat she had begged at the Temple, and a little fruit she had found on one of the forest paths. Her last ragged garment had fallen from her; she had only a coarse linen scarf, too small to cover the half of her body. She had not even a pin or ribbon with which to fasten the dark hair which fell in tangled ringlets over her shoulders.
The men had turned from her; the women avoided her. She was alone, scorned, buffeted by the elements. Her
