Soon, however, he forgot syntax, etymology, and metre; he forgot his pupils and the dry analysis he was making for their benefit, and he read through the passage before him without stopping.  It was the parting of Hector and Andromache.  He discovered new beauty and meaning in the story; the exquisite picture of conjugal and paternal love, the happiness of mutual affection, the grief of parting, had never made such an impression upon him before.  Never before had he read or recited the “Iliad” in this way, for as he read, Mr. Liakos gradually took Hector’s place.  He kept thinking of his friend; it was his friend who felt the bitterness of separation, and that too without ever having tasted, like Hector, the joys of conjugal happiness!

Mr. Plateas shut his book and started up again.  A thousand conflicting thoughts filled his mind as he paced from his table to his bed, and from his bed back to his table.

“Pshaw!” he cried.  “Why shouldn’t I believe that Liakos never had any thought of marrying me off?  I was a fool to imagine such a thing!  Do I look like a marrying man?”

He stopped before his glass, which was lighted by the lamp only at one side, and saw one half of his face reflected with the silk handkerchief wound around his head, while the other half was in shadow, and the two ends of the knot stuck up over his forehead.

“Truly,” he laughed, “between us we should have a beautiful Astyanax!”

He sat down again, calmer; but once more there began to throng before his eyes scenes and images that had nothing to do with the next day’s lesson.  He saw that he could not work in earnest, and decided to go to bed, thinking that rest would quiet his nerves, and that he could get up early in the morning and prepare his task with a fresher mind.  So he went to bed and put out his lamp.  But sleep would not come; he tossed about restlessly, and in the silence and darkness the very tension of his nerves made him more and more remorseful.

The long hours of the night passed slowly.  At last, toward morning, he fell asleep; but his waking thoughts were distorted into a frightful nightmare, and he started up in terror.  He had dreamt that his bed was the sea, while his pillow was a shark, and his head was in the jaws of the monster.  Then the shark began to wear the face and shape of the merchant’s elder daughter, and a voice—­the voice of Liakos—­sounded in his ear, repeating over and over: 

“Ding, Dong!  Ungrateful wretch!  Ding, Dong!  Ungrateful wretch!”

He sat up in bed, and as he wiped his dripping forehead with the silk handkerchief, which had come untied in the agony of his dream, he made an heroic resolution.

“I will marry her!” he cried.  “I owe so much to my preserver.  I must do my duty and ease my conscience.”

He covered himself up again, with a lighter heart; his mind was now tranquil, and free from all suspicion, hesitation, or remorse.