ther!" cried Melissa, scarcely able to command her voice. But Heron
took no notice of her, and continued, composedly: "Diodoros would have
been dear to me as a son-in-law. I shall certainly tell him so. But when
Caesar, the ruler of the world, condescends to ask a plain man for
his daughter, every other consideration must naturally be put aside.
Diodoros is sensible, and is sure to see it in the right light. We all
know how Caesar treats those who are in his way; but I wish the son
of Polybius no ill, so I forbore to betray to Caesar what tie had once
bound you, my child, to the gallant youth."

Heron had never liked the freedman. The man's firm character had always
gone against the gemcutter's surly, capricious nature; and it was no
little satisfaction to him to let him feel his superiority, and boast
before him of the apparent good luck that had befallen the artist's
family.

But Andreas had already heard from the physician that Caracalla
had informed his mother's envoys of his intended marriage with an
Alexandrian, the daughter of an artist of Macedonian extraction. This
could only refer to Melissa, and it was this news which had caused him
to urge the maiden to instant flight.

Pale, incapable of uttering a word, Melissa stood before her father; but
the freedman grasped her hand, looked Heron reproachfully in the face,
and asked, quietly, "And you would really have the heart to join this
dear child's life to that of a bloody tyrant?"

"Certainly I have," returned Heron with decision, and he drew his
daughter's hand out of that of Andreas, who turned his back upon the
artist with a meaning shrug of the shoulders. But Melissa ran after him,
and, clinging to him, cried as she turned first to him and then to her
father:

"I am promised to Diodoros, and shall hold fast to him and my love; tell
him that, Andreas! Come what may, I will be his and his alone! Caesar--"

"Swear not!" broke in Heron, angrily, "for by great Serapis--"

But Alexander interposed between them, and begged his father to consider
what he was asking of the girl. Caesar's proposals could scarcely
have been very pleasing to him, or why had he concealed till now what
Caracalla was whispering to him in the adjoining room? He might imagine
for himself what fate awaited the helpless child at the side of a
husband at whose name even men trembled. He should remember her mother,
and what she would have said to such a union. There was little, time to
es