the room, she found Melissa still upon her
knees, her young frame shaken as with fever. So she withdrew softly, and
in the Temple of Serapis, where her husband served as high-priest, she
prayed to Jesus Christ that he who suffered little children to come unto
him would lead this wandering lamb into the right path.

CHAPTER XXVI

The lady Euryale's silent prayer was interrupted by the return of
Alexander. He brought the clothes which Seleukus's wife had given him
for Melissa. He was already dressed in his best, and crowned like all
those who occupied the first seats in the Circus; but his festal garb
accorded ill with the pained look on his features, from which every
trace had vanished of the overflowing joy in life which had embellished
them only this morning.

He had seen and heard things which made him feel that it would no longer
be a sacrifice to give his life to save his sister.

Sad thoughts had flitted across his cheerful spirit like dark bats, even
while he was talking with Melissa and her protectress, for he knew well
how infinitely hard his father would find it to have to quit Alexandria;
and if he himself fled with Melissa he would be obliged to give up the
winning of fair Agatha. The girl's Christian father had indeed received
him kindly, but had given him to understand plainly enough that he would
never allow a professed heathen to sue for his daughter's hand. Besides
this, he had met with other humiliations which placed themselves like a
wall between him and his beloved, the only child of a rich and respected
man. He had forfeited the right of appearing before Zeus as a suitor;
for indeed he was no longer such as he had been only yesterday.

The news that Caracalla proposed to marry Melissa had been echoed by
insolent tongues, with the addition that he, Alexander, had ingratiated
himself with Caesar by serving him as a spy. No one had expressly said
this to him; but, while he was hurrying through the city in Caesar's
chariot, on the ladies' message, it had been made very plain to his
apprehension. Honest men had avoided him--him to whom hitherto every one
for whose regard he cared had held out a friendly hand; and much else
that he had experienced in the course of this drive had been unpleasant
enough to give rise to a change of his whole inner being.

The feeling that every one was pointing at him the finger of scorn,
or of wrath, had never ceased to pursue him. And he had been under no
illus