A proud maiden was Penelope, when Odysseus wedded her in her youthful bloom, and made her the mistress of his fair dwelling and his rich domain.  One happy year they lived together, and a son was born to them, whom they named Telemachus.  Then war arose between Greece and Asia, and Odysseus was summoned to join the train of chieftains who followed Agamemnon to win back Helen, his brother’s wife.  Ten years the war lasted; then Troy was taken, and those who had survived the struggle returned to their homes.  Among these was Odysseus, who set sail with joyful heart, hoping, before many days were passed, to take up anew the thread of domestic happiness which had been so rudely broken.  But since that hour he has vanished from sight, and for ten long years from the fall of Troy the house has been mourning its absent lord.

During the last three years a new trouble has been present, to fill the cup of Penelope’s sorrow to the brim.  A host of suitors, drawn from the most powerful families in Ithaca and the neighbouring islands, have beset the house of Odysseus, desiring to wed his wife and possess her wealth.  All her friends urge her to make choice of a husband from that clamorous band; for no one now believes that there is any hope left of Odysseus’ return.  Only Penelope still clings to the belief that he is yet living, and will one day come home.  So for three years she has put them off by a cunning trick.  She began to weave a shroud for her father-in-law, Laertes, promising that, as soon as the garment was finished, she would wed one of the suitors.  Then all day long she wove that choice web; and every night she undid the work of the day, unravelling the threads which she had woven.  So for three years she beguiled the suitors, but at last she was betrayed by her handmaids, and the fraud was discovered.  The princes upbraided her loudly for her deceit, and became more importunate than ever.  The substance of Odysseus was wasting away; for day after day the wooers came thronging to the house, a hundred strong, and feasted at the expense of its absent master, and drank up his wine.

No hope seems left to the heartbroken, faithful wife.  Even her son has grown impatient at the waste of his goods, and urges her to make the hard choice, and the hateful hour is at hand which will part her for ever from the scene of her brief wedded joy.

[Illustration:  Penelope]

II

It was the hour of noon, and the sun was beating hot on the rocky hills of Ithaca, when a solitary wayfarer was seen approaching the outer gateway which led into the courtyard of Odysseus’ house.  He was a man of middle age, dressed like a chieftain, and carrying a long spear in his hand.  Passing through the covered gateway he halted abruptly, and gazed in astonishment at the strange sight which met his eyes.  All was noise and bustle in the courtyard, where a busy troop of servants were preparing the