tect
herself, for she fancied that the daemon of madness stared out of those
large black eyes. But the unhappy woman's expression changed, and she
looked down kindly on Melissa. She quietly set the lamp on the table,
and then, as the cool nightbreeze blew in through the open window,
to which there was no shutter, she tenderly wrapped the white woolen
blanket round Melissa, and muttered to herself, "She liked it so."

Then she knelt down by the side of the bed, pressed her lips on the brow
of the girl, now fully awake, and said:

"And you, too, are fair to look upon. He will grant your prayer!"

Then she asked Melissa about her lover, her father, her mother, and at
last she, unexpectedly, asked her in a whisper:

"Your brother Alexander, the painter--My daughter, though in death,
inspired his soul with love. Yes, Korinna was dear to him. Her image is
living in his soul. Am I right? Tell me the truth!"

On this Melissa confessed how deeply the painter had been impressed by
the dead girl's beauty, and that he had given her his heart and soul
with a fervor of devotion of which she had never imagined him capable.
And the poor mother smiled as she heard it, and murmured, "I was sure of
it."

But then she shook her head, sadly, and said "Fool that I am!"

At last she bade Melissa good-night, and went back to her own bedroom.
There Johanna was awaiting her, and while she was plaiting her
mistress's hair the matron said, threateningly:

"If the wretch should not spare even her"--She was interrupted by loud
shouts of mirth from the banqueting-hall, and among the laughing voices
she fancied that she recognized her husband's. She started up with a
vehement movement, and exclaimed, in angry excitement:

"Seleukus might have prevented such an outrage! Oh, I know that
sorrowing father's heart! Fear, vanity, ambition, love of pleasure--"

"But consider," Johanna broke in, "to cross Caesar's wish is to forfeit
life!"

"Then he should have died!" replied the matron, with stern decision.

CHAPTER XVI.

Before sunrise the wind changed. Heavy clouds bore down from the north,
darkening the clear sky of Alexandria. By the time the market was
filling it was raining in torrents, and a cold breeze blew over the town
from the lake. Philostratus had only allowed himself a short time for
sleep, sitting till long after midnight over his history of Apolonius
of Tyana. His aim was to prove, by the example of this man, that a
char