and warriors. In other lands this feeling might be degraded into materialism or sensuality, but with the imaginative Greeks it was the worship of the ideal the image of a dim and undistinct divinity, which to their minds could only be shadowed forth and embodied in the most perfect human loveliness. They united the two ideas of the good and the beautiful, believing one could not exist without the other. And even now this old worship lingers in the land, which has truly been described by the poet as a body whence the spirit is departed. There are no people more beautiful, or more susceptible in their perceptions of external beauty, than the modern Greeks.

Thus while the young Sphakiote watched her lover, her heart thrilled with pride that the noblest of the mountain youths was her own.

"Philota! dear Philota!" sounded the pleasant voice of Antonio; and he stood beside her. A classic eye, to see them, would have thought of Paris and Enone on the Trojan mountain which bore the same name as this Cretan hill"Many-fountained Ida."

"I have waited for thee long, Antonio," murmured the girl.' "Forgive me, Philota. I lay dreaming on the hill-top, and forgot thee-no, not forgot; that I could never do; but my thoughts were busy. Come, let me take the olive-basket, and we will go to the place which made my thoughts wander."

A sigh, so faint as to be almost inaudible, moved Philota's lips. Alas! he thought of many things-she of him only. It was the difference that always is, between man's love and woman's.

They ascended the mountain, and stood on its summit hand. in hand. The whole island was before them, like a picture; it lay at their feet sleeping in loveliness.

"How beautiful-how calm it is!" whispered Philota, “Oh, Antonio, if we could live for ever in this peaceful happiness, thou and I!"

A restless movement in her lover made the girl look in his face: it was clouded, "The holy saints forbid!" he muttered

between his teeth. She did not hear him; it was well she did not, for the words would have pierced her heart like a thorn. And yet he loved her better than all things on earth, except ambition.

"Thou dost not enjoy this scene as I do, Antonio. Something has troubled thee to-day. Tell me what it is!"

Antonio turned away before those soft, loving eyes: there was something in his heart which he could not lay open at once to their gaze. "How keenly thou readest my face, Philota!" He laughed, or tried to laugh.

"Then there is something?"

"I had not meant to tell thee; but I must. My dearest, it is not worth that anxious look of thine. It is only that I have been to-day on the mountain with Rousso and Anagnosti, and they told me that the war is coming nearer-even to our shores."

"Antonio! and thine eyes brighten-thy frame dilates with joy, whilst I-I only shudder."

"Ah, there will be no more idle staying at home!" the young man continued, as if he had not heard her. "No more gathering honey, treading olives, keeping goats, while one's arm is strong-strong to fight. Look, Philota, far down in the bay there is a flash; they are already trying the guns with which our new Governor has armed the harbour. Listen! the noble Governor Affendouli is already forming troops in the mountains, and Rousso and Anagnosti have joined them. Rousso will be made Captain of Sphakia. Dost hear, Philota?"

She stood, no longer sustained by his entwining arm, which, in the energy of his declamation, Antonio had removed: her head was bent, her eyes fixed on the sea; there was in them a mournful meaning, but he saw it not. Without waiting for her answer, the young Sphakiote continued; "Rousso was so proud with his new arms-the poor mean boy whom I taught to use a gun!—yet how he sneered at mine with its rusty lock! And he is to be captain of a band, and will become a hero, whilst I

Philota turned slowly round, and her pale face met her lover's, which was flushed with anger and excitement. "Dost thou wish to go too? Antonio, was this what thou hadst to tell me?"

He had all along been preparing himself to reveal to her this his desire, yet when she guessed it of her own accord, and his scarcely-formed thoughts were uttered plainly by her, he could not answer a word, but played confusedly with the silver chain of his belt.

"Antonio, I have seen thou hast not been happy of late. There is more in thy heart than I can satisfy. I am only a poor weak girl, and thou a noble man, full of great thoughts and aspirings. Hush! do not say nay. It was ever so. Thy love is all to me; but thou needest something beyond mine. What is it?

He looked at her in surprise; for her voice, though sad, was calm, and there was no anger in its tone. "Philota, I love thee-none but thee. I swear it! This fool Rousso has taunted me: he said I chose to live idly in the mountains when all our Sphakiotes were going to fight against the Turks. I would have proved him a liar-I would have joined the Governor at once-but for

"But for Philota: is it not so? I love thee; but my love should be a garland of flowers to adorn thee, not an iron chain to fetter thee," said the girl, using the metaphorical language of her clime. "Antonio, thou shalt go."

There was a deep silence between them. At last the young man broke it. "Hast thou thought of all that must follow this, Philota? Thou wouldst be left alone, and there could be no bridal feast after the olive harvest. Antonio Melidori is not so mean as to wed a bride and leave her. Philota, thou art nobler than I; I will not go."

Philota threw her arms about his neck. The heroism of a Greek maiden lay deep in her soul; but it was yet sleeping. She was still a girl-a timid girl. She wept tears of joy when her lover said his mind had changed, and he would not go to the wars.

"It would have killed me to part with thee, Antonio, even though I told thee to go. Ay, and I would never have prayed thee otherwise had it been against thy will. But war is so terrible a thing. Thou seest only its glory; I think of its miseries. I fancy thee pursued, wounded-slain; and then I would die too."

"Foolish girl," whispered the lover, whilst his fingers played tenderly with the shower of black hair that lay on his shoulder; "thou forgettest all the honour that would have been thine when I came back a general. Think how our maidens envy the fortune of the wife of Ipsilanti-how glorious is the destiny of the wives of the heroes in the Morea."

"I have heard of only one, who saw husband and son slain; and then fought in their room-the lady Bobolina. Had I been she, I would rather have lain down and died with them."

Melidori's eyes were fixed on the bay. "There it flashes again: it is the signal to gather the troops. Anagnosti said Why must I stay behind like a coward?"

So.

He muttered these words indistinctly; but they fell on the girl's ear like a funeral knell. She saw the chafing of the proud and ambitious spirit; she knew that she held no longer the first place in Antonio's heart-that a stronger power than love had sprung up there, and ruled triumphant. The knowledge broke her girlish dream for ever.

Philota looked at her lover as he stood, almost unconscious of her presence; his fingers clenched tightly on the silvermounted pistol, which every Greek carries in his belt; his beautiful lips compressed, until their rosy curves became almost white. His thoughts were far away from her; and Philota saw it. One moment her hand was pressed on her heart; her lips opened, as if to give vent to the terrible cry of anguish that wrung her soul; but it came not. The struggle passed, and her resolution was taken.

"Antonio!" She laid her hand on his arm, and he started as if it had been the touch of death instead of her soft warm fingers. "Antonio, I too have changed my mind. Thou

shalt not stay at home, but go and fight for Greece with the rest, and come back covered with the glory thou desireth so much!"

The young Sphakiote's countenance became radiant with joy. "Thou sayest this from thy heart, Philota?"

"I do."

"And thou art happy-quite happy?"

"Yes; if it makes thee so."

True woman's heart! Self-denying heroism of love, your strength is more than the strength of armies!

II.

There was no

A few days more, and Philota was alone. hand to aid her in her daily journey up the mountain, or to relieve her of the olive-basket which she carried to the honeygatherers. Antonio Melidori was gone to the wars. In that stirring time, when every day the sound of battle grew nearer, and every heart learned to beat with the fierce excitement of war, Philota alone was calm: no enthusiasm brightened her cheek when she saw her lover depart-the noblest of the band of young Sphakiotes which he led with him to the Governor Affendouli. Even the cry of patriotism was to her an empty sound. Her imagination was never dazzled by that watchword, which is too often only another name for ambition.

It was strange that at such a crisis, and in such a land, this one Greek maiden should have thought thus. But in her childhood she had been brought up by her mother's brother, a priest in the Greek church—that church which so long held fast the peaceful doctrines and pure worship of the primitive Christians. Then it was that Philota learned to look upon war as odious; and as her clear and earnest mind matured into womanhood, all the tinsel of fame fell off from the idol, and left it in its own naked hideousness. The fair image of glory which blinded the eyes of Antonio, was to Philota nothing but a loathsome skeleton.

Month after month the girl followed her lowly occupation