That very night Hera sent a frenzy upon the three princesses, and they rushed in madness out of the city and roamed with strange cries among the fields. Their father went in search of them with the first light, but they knew him not, and fled away, shrieking, to the hills above the city. There they wandered for many days, and none could come near them, for when any approached, they bounded away like things possessed, and swifter than flying deer. Then the King in his despair sent messengers everywhere to offer great rewards to whoever would heal his daughters of their madness, and there came to him a seer out of the West country, whose name was Melampus. He was the son of a king, and he became a seer in this way. One day that he hunted in the woods he lay down to rest, being wearied, and fell asleep, and while he slept two young snakes crept out from their hole and licked his eyes and ears with their soft, forked tongues. Melampus awoke, and heard one snake say to the other, "This is the man who spared our lives when his servants found our nest last spring and slew our mother." With that they glided away, and then, lying still in deep amaze, he heard the birds also talking together, and understood all they said. Thus he became a seer, and a great physician as well, for his eyes were opened to see visions, and his ears to hear all that the wild creatures tell each other about the healing virtues of herbs and flowers and springs of water. Melampus told the King of Argos that he would heal his daughters for a price, but when the King asked what it was, he answered, "The half of your kingdom." This the King would not grant, and he sent him away. But soon the same madness came also upon the women of the land, so that they too fled out of their homes and wandered distracted about the hills. Then the people, who had heard what the seer had demanded, earnestly besought the King to send after Melampus, and give him anything he asked to take away this plague from them. So Melampus was brought back, and the King offered him half the kingdom. But now the seer said that he would do nothing unless the King would give him two-thirds of the land. Even this the King was constrained to grant, lest the people should rise against him if he did not find means to rid them of the wrath of Hera, which his daughters had brought upon their wives and children. And the seer took men with him to the hills, and made them drive the herd of women gently before them towards a certain stream, and as they passed through its waters in flight from their pursuers they were healed of their madness, the three princesses with the rest. Thus Melampus became king over two-thirds of the land of Argos; one-third he kept himself, and gave one-third to Bias, his brother. But the three proud princesses, because they had despised Hera the Bride, never became brides themselves, and their father likewise came to no good end, because he had laughed instead of reproving them.

Melampus and Bias loved each other well, and reigned in peace for many years, but after their death their sons and grandsons began to be at feud about the kingdom, each desiring to make himself lord of all Argos. At last, when the Prince Adrastus, grandson of Bias, reigned in his father's stead, he took to himself the inheritance of the grandson of Melampus, who was yet a child, pretending that he would hold it in trust for his young kinsman. Also he took the child away from the servants who had the care of him (for his father and mother were dead), and brought him up in his own palace, and forbade his own servants on pain of death to let him learn that he was a king's son. So this little prince, who was called Amphiaraus, grew up in the house of Adrastus, and none dared tell him that he had a right to half the kingdom. He had for playmate a beautiful little girl, Eriphyle by name, who was the younger sister of Adrastus, and he came to love her very dearly, in spite of one great fault that she had—she was the most covetous little maiden that ever lived. She could not see her playfellow with a flower, or a fruit, or a toy, without wanting to have it, and very often she got it, for she could coax very prettily, and if that did not do, the tears would come into her sweet dark eyes, and her rosebud of a mouth would quiver so piteously that he somehow felt himself a cruel little wretch, and begged her to take it. As she grew older her one delight was in jewels and golden trinkets, and though King Adrastus was for ever giving her such things, she could never have enough, but hoarded them away, and began to think of how she could get more. Sometimes she would pretend that she had lost a ring or a bracelet, and fret over it for days, till she was promised another like it, and then, when the new one was made, she would say that the gold was not so fine, or the gems not so large, as the old. Then the King, who doted on his young sister, would make her amends with some other costly gift besides, so that her hoard of treasures grew from day to day. But at last she did really lose one of her jewels; it was an earring curiously wrought, and hung with a pear-shaped pearl, and there were no such earrings in all the land of Greece as this and its fellow, which a trader from across the sea had brought to Argos out of the East. Therefore the Princess Eriphyle could not be comforted with any gift for the loss of it, and great search was made in all the house, and in the King's orchard and garden, but it could not be found. Amphiaraus searched with the rest, and could not bear to see the grief of the pretty princess. He sought to comfort her as best he could, and entreated her not to grieve, saying, "The earring will surely be found some day, and meanwhile have you not hundreds of other jewels? Do not vex yourself, Eriphyle, and spoil your dear eyes with weeping, or you will break my heart."

"Oh," she cried, "what a false boy this is! He would have me think he loves me, when he will not do the least little thing for my sake."

"I know not what you mean," he answered, bewildered. "What is there I would not do to please you?"

"If you loved me truly," she said, "you would never rest day or night till you brought me my earring, my lovely pearl earring that I prize so dearly, or else the match of it."

"One of those things I will do," said Amphiaraus, "and I will see your face no more till I have done it." And he went out of the chamber where she sat crying and scolding her women. But when he had once more searched high and low in vain, he said to himself that since he certainly could never find that earring, the thing he must do was to find another like it somewhere in the world. He waited till nightfall, lest one should see and hinder his going; then he took a cloak and a staff and put on sandals, and stole out of the King's house, and out of the city gate from which the road led to the nearest harbour-town. For he thought that there he might find some ship bound for the lands of the East, where only in the world craftsmen made earrings like the Princess Eriphyle's. It was a summer's night, and the clear heaven shone thick with stars, like bright kind eyes looking down upon his lonely way. About a league from the city, the road was bordered on one side by a wood of olives, and the young prince turned aside to rest there till morning light. He saw among the trees what seemed the pillared porch of a house, and went towards it, to seek a lodging for the night, but coming nearer, he saw that it was a roofless shrine, empty and half in ruins. Only a low stone altar, such as men built upon the graves of the dead, was to be seen within, lichen-stained, and mantled over by a wild vine. Amphiaraus rolled his cloak together for a pillow and propped it against the altar, and laid him down to sleep. Now as he slept, he dreamed a dream; he thought that a large, bright-eyed snake came out of the altar and coiled itself round him, and that it licked his eyes and his ears with its soft, forked tongue. This terrified him so, that he awoke, and then, as it seemed to him that voices were talking close at hand, he raised himself very quietly on one elbow, listening, and looking about him. It was still night, but the stars gave light enough in the roofless chamber to see two little brown owls perched side by side on the broken cornice. The low talking went on, till suddenly one of the voices—quite softly, but quite distinctly—hooted. Then the prince looked at the owls again, and saw that they were the speakers, and he listened with all his might, pretending to be asleep.

"What youth is that," said one, "and why has he come to sleep on the grave of Melampus?"

"Little wife," answered the other, "he is called Amphiaraus, and he is the grandson of Melampus, and rightful king of half this land."

"How comes that?" said the lady owl. "Is not Adrastus rightful king of all Argos, seeing that he is descended from the elder brother of Melampus?"

"It is a long story," replied her mate, "but you shall hear it if you like." And he told her the tale of the three proud princesses, and how Melampus gained two-thirds of the kingdom and gave an equal share to Bias, his brother. "So you see," he said, "that King Adrastus is no better than a usurper, although he belongs to the elder branch of that family. He has brought up this youth in ignorance of his rights, and taught him to suppose that his grandfather Melampus held only the rank of a younger brother to the King from whom Adrastus himself inherits the whole land. Covetousness, my little wife, is the root of strange evils among men, and it is well seen in this greedy King and his greedier sister, Eriphyle. Like brother, like sister; because she has lost a gewgaw that you and I would not give a mouse for, she has sent this lad who loves her to the world's end to look for its like."

"How wise you are," said the lady owl. "It does a bird's heart good to listen to you. But tell me, will Amphiaraus find her jewel for the princess? It seems a pity such a handsome young prince should go wandering about the world like a beggar."

"He need not wander far if he knew where to look," said the other owl. "The princess dropped her earring when she was swinging in the orchard, and a magpie, who spied it in the grass, picked it up and flew off with it. That magpie happens to have built a nest at the top of the sycamore which you see yonder, at the end of this olive grove, and she has put the earring into it, by way of ornament. For my part, I always thing that magpies do not understand the true principles of house-building. The Beautiful is all very well, but when it comes to plastering one's walls with hard shiny things such as earrings, instead of with down, I, for one, consider it a mistake."

"My dear husband," said the lady owl, "how happy it makes me to hear you discourse. I believe you are the wisest owl that ever hooted."