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  _NEW SIX SHILLING NOVELS._


  THE BLUE LAGOON. By H. DE VERE STACPOOLE.
  EVE'S APPLE. By ALPHONSE COURLANDER.
  PARADISE COURT. By J. S. FLETCHER.
  THE TRAITOR'S WIFE. By W. H. WILLIAMSON.
  MAROZIA. By A. G. HALES.

  LONDON: T. FISHER UNWIN.




  THE WOMAN WHO VOWED
  (THE DEMETRIAN)

  BY
  ELLISON HARDING

  [Illustration]

  LONDON
  T. FISHER UNWIN
  ADELPHI TERRACE
  MCMVIII




CONTENTS


  CHAPTER                                   PAGE
  I. A Goddess and a Comic Song                7
  II. Harvesting and Harmony                  21
  III. The Cult of Demeter                    37
  IV. Anna of Ann                             53
  V. Irene                                    63
  VI. Neaera                                  77
  VII. A Tragic Denouement                    94
  VIII. How the Cult was Founded             101
  IX. How It Might be Undermined             119
  X. An Unexpected Solution                  127
  XI. The Plot Thickens                      135
  XII. Neaera's Idea of Diplomacy            144
  XIII. Neaera Makes New Arrangements        150
  XIV. "I Consented"                         162
  XV. The High Priest of Demeter             171
  XVI. Anna's Secret                         183
  XVII. Designs on Anna of Ann               190
  XVIII. A Dream                             200
  XIX. The Legislature Meets                 207
  XX. On Flavors and Finance                 219
  XXI. The Investigating Committee           226
  XXII. "Treasons, Stratagems, and Spoils"   238
  XXIII. A Libel                             249
  XXIV. Neaera Again                         259
  XXV. The Libel Investigated                266
  XXVI. The Election                         285
  XXVII. The Joint Session                   293
  XXVIII. Lydia to the Rescue                302
  Conclusion                                 315




THE DEMETRIAN




CHAPTER I

A GODDESS AND A COMIC SONG


I remember awakening with a start, conscious of a face bending over me
that was beautiful and strange.

I was quite unable to account for myself, and my surprise was heightened
by the singular dress of the woman I saw. It was Greek--not of modern
but of ancient Greece.

What had happened? Had I been acting in a Greek play and been stunned by
an accident to the scenery? No; the grass upon which I was lying was
damp, and a sharp twinge between the shoulders told me I had been there
already too long. What, then, was the meaning of this classic dress?

I raised myself on one arm; and the young woman who had been kneeling
beside me arose also. I was dazed, and shaded my eyes from the sun on
the horizon--whether setting or rising I could not tell. I fixed my eyes
upon the feet of my companion; they were curiously shod in soft
leather, for cleanliness rather than for protection; tightly laced from
the toe to the ankle and half way up the leg--half-moccasin and
half-cothurnus. I fixed my eyes upon them and slowly became quite sure
that I was alive and awake, but seemed still dazed and unwilling to look
up. Presently she spoke.

"Are you ill?" she asked.

"I don't think so," answered I, as I lifted my eyes to hers.

When our eyes met I jumped to my feet with an alertness so fresh and
fruitful that I seemed to myself to have risen anew from the Fountain of
Youth. A miracle had happened. I was dead and had come to life
again--and apparently this time in the Olympian world.

"Here!" I exclaimed; "or Athene! Cytherea, or Artemis!"

Then quickly the look of sympathetic concern that I had just seen in her
eyes vanished. A ripple of laughter passed over her face like the first
touch of a breeze on a becalmed sea; for a moment she seemed to restrain
it, but her merriment awakened mine, and on perceiving it she abandoned
all restraint and burst into a laugh that was musical, bewitching, and
contagious. We stood there a full minute, both of us laughing, though I
did not understand why. She soon explained.

"Where on earth do you come from, Xenos, and where--_where_ did you get
_those_ things?" She pointed to my pantaloons as she spoke.

Then I discovered how ridiculous I appeared.

"And why have they cut all the hair off your face and left that ugly
little stubble?"

I put my hand to my chin and felt there a beard of several days' growth.

"It must prick dreadfully," she said; and coming up to me she daintily
passed a soft, rosy finger over my cheek. I caught her hand and kissed
it. She jumped away from me like a fawn.

"Take care, young man," she said, reprovingly but not reproachfully;
"though I don't suppose you are very young, for I see some gray in your
hair."

I don't suppose I liked being reminded of my years, but I was altogether
too much absorbed in the richness of her beauty and health to be
concerned about myself. And the subtle combination of freedom and
reserve in her manner conveyed to me an indescribable charm. At one
moment it tempted me to trespass, but at the next I became aware that
such an attempt would meet with humiliating resistance; for she was tall
and strong. Her one rapid movement away from me proved her agility. She
was perfectly able to take care of herself. Her consciousness of this
had enabled her to meet my first advance with unruffled good humor, but
I felt sure that persistence on my part would elicit repulsion and
perhaps scorn.

We stood a moment smiling at each other; then she said:

"Come, you must take off those dreadful things; why, you are wet
through"--and she passed her hand over my back--"and you must tell me
what you are and where you come from. But you are chilled now and need
something warm, so come to the Hall and you can tell me as we go."

As she spoke she swung to her head a basket I had not before observed;
it was heavy, for she straightened herself to support it; and the
weight, until she balanced it, brought out the muscles of her neck. She
put her arms akimbo and showed the way.

"Well," she said, as we walked together side by side, "when are you
going to begin?"

"How and where shall I begin?" answered I. "You forget that I too have
questions to ask; I am bewildered. Who and what are you? In what country
am I? Where did you get that beautiful dress?" I stepped a little away
from her to observe the beauty of her form.

"We try to make all our garments beautiful," she answered, simply; "but
this is the common dress of all--or rather the dress commonly worn in
the country. We dress a little differently in town--but what do you find
peculiar in my attire? What else could I wear out in the fields?"

I looked at the drapery, which did not hang lower than the knee; at the
girdle that barely indicated the waist; at the chiton gathered by a
brooch on one shoulder, leaving bare the whole length of her richly
moulded arm.

"I would not have you wear anything