tage of Berenike's ship, it will soon be
discovered that it was your brother's wife who helped her to escape from
Caracalla."

"Berenike will know what to do," answered Timotheus, composedly. "She,
if any one, knows how to take care of herself. She has the protection of
her influential brother-in-law, Coeranus; and just now there is nothing
she would not do to strike a blow at her hated enemy."

"How sorrow and revenge have worked upon that strange woman!" exclaimed
the lady, sadly. "Caracalla has injured her, it is true--"

"He has, and to-day he has added a further, deeper insult, for he forces
her to appear in the Amphitheater, with the wives of the other citizens
who bear the cost of this performance. I was there, and heard him say
to Seleukus, who was acting as spokesman, that he counted on seeing his
wife, of whom he had heard so much, in her appointed place this evening.

"This will add fuel to the fire of her hatred. If she only does not
allow her anger to carry her away, and to show it in a manner that she
will afterward regret!--But my time is short. I have to walk before
the sacred images in full ceremonial vestments, and accompanied by
the priest of Alexander. You, unfortunately, take no pleasure in such
spectacles. Once more, then--if the girl is determined to fly, she must
not return here. I repeat, if any one can help her to get away, it is
Berenike. Our sister-in-law must take the consequences. Caesar can not
accuse her of treason, at any rate, and her interference in the matter
will clear us of all suspicion of complicity."

No word of this conversation had escaped Melissa. She learned nothing
new from it, but it affected her deeply.

Warm-hearted as she was, she fully realized the debt of gratitude she
owed to the lady Euryale; and she could not blame the high-priest, whom
prudence certainly compelled to close his doors against her. And yet she
was wounded by his words. She had struggled so hard in these last days
to banish all thought of her own happiness, and shield her dear ones
from harm, that such selfishness appeared doubly cruel to her. Did
it not seem as if this priest of the great Deity to whom she had been
taught to pray, cared little what became of his nearest relatives, so
long as he and his wife were unmolested? That was the opposite of what
Andreas had praised as the highest duty, the last time she had walked
with him to the ferry; and since then Johanna had told her the story
of Ch