when it is heard in the island; it must not be known abroad until he can try the temper of his subjects, and gather a loyal host around him. All traces of the bloody scene which has just been enacted must be carefully concealed; the house must ring with harp, and song, and dance, that all who hear may think the queen has made her choice at last, and is holding her wedding-feast to-day—as, in truth, in a better sense she shall. Ulysses himself goes to the bath to wash away the stains of slaughter. Thence he comes forth endued once more by his guardian goddess with the "hyacinthine" locks and the grand presence which he had worn in the court of Phæacia. He appeals now to his wife's memory, for she yet gives no sure sign of recognition:—
Have, beyond mortal women, given to thee
Heart as of flint, which none can soften well.
Lives not a wife who could endure, save thee,
Her lord to slight, who, roaming earth and sea,
Comes to his own land in the twentieth year.
Haste, Eurycleia, and go spread for me
Some couch, that I may sleep—but not with her."
Penelope does recognise the form and features—it is indeed, to all outward appearance, the Ulysses from whom she parted in tears twenty years ago. But such appearances are deceitful; gods have been known, ere now, to put on the form of men to gain the love of mortals. She will put him to one certain test she wots of. "Give him his own bed," she says to the nurse; "go, bring it forth from what was our bridal chamber." But the couch of which she speaks is, as
