Scarcely had he departed when Pandora drew near the box and began to study the fineness of its workmanship and the beauty of its engraving and ornament; it delighted her and she longed to touch it. But she remem-bered—he was the messenger of the gods—and drew back her hand just as it was about to reach out.

Her companion returned, saw the box, and asked about it; and she told him of Hermes's visit to her, of his leaving the box in her keeping, and of his charge to her not to open it.

Her answer satisfied his curiosity; he cast no second glance at the box and paid no heed to its presence in his hut, for it was no concern of his: it was a thing held in trust, and things held in trust are returned to their owners sooner or later. But the curiosity of Pandora—she being the first woman—clamored in

her breast, raising up a swarm of questions... Why had Hermes deposited this box with her? Where had he brought it from, and whose was it? Was it his—or had he stolen it? And if he had stolen it, from whom had he stolen it, and what did the box contain?? She remained perplexed over this beautiful box, and Hermes's forbidding her to open it only deepened her perplexity. She set her mind to work, but it came back from the box's riddles blunted. She would examine it intently; then she grew bold, and touched it, and hefted it, and found it heavy. At last, curiosity and the love of finding out having robbed her of all rest, she resolved to uncover the box's secret whatever it might cost her—but how was she to uncover its secret without opening it?

And one late afternoon, while her companion was gathering flowers to plait into a garland for her, the opportunity showed

itself, and she seized it... She took up a small knife and drove it into the lock and pressed upon it with both hands until it broke; then she raised the lid with a hand trembling with dread and awe and excitement.

Hardly had she lifted the lid when there gushed out of it a swarm of woes and calamities, and a flight of sins and transgressions, followed by flights of pains and sorrows, and in their track marched a host of disgraces and evils: self-ishness and hypocrisy, lewdness and bloodshed, godlessness and hatred, gluttony and defilement and pride... All of these crowded into the hut and beset the woman, making her taste torment of every kind, and they spread through the meadow and turned it into an inferno. The unsuspecting man was thunder-struck at the harm that befell him, not knowing how to ward it off or how to turn it back; he fled to his hut for refuge from the assaults—and behold, the hut itself was oozing woe and evil and harm. He was on the point of fleeing from it, he knew not where, when he caught sight of his companion staggering under the weight of calamities and pains, and he rushed to save her; and a glance fell from him upon the ill-omened box, and he saw it open, and grasped the bitter truth. Curiosity had driven the woman on, and she had disobeyed the prohibition of the gods; and now she—and he with her—were meeting the wages of what her hands had wrought...

And while they were in that state, behold, they heard from the depths of the box a sweet, gentle voice repeating: "Set me free, and I shall lighten your pains and your sorrows. I am balm for wounds; I am the strengthener of resolves and the quickener of spirits. I am Hope."

Was it another trick? What is hope? But Pandora did not hesi-tate; she raised the lid a second time, and out came Hope—man's sole support in enduring the world with its evils, its pains, and its disgraces.