oss in imitation of the Divine Master, among whose followers she
joyfully counted herself--though secretly, for fear of men? All this
flashed through her mind with the swiftness of lightning, and her call,
"Doris!" addressed to her waiting-woman, was so clear and unexpected
that Melissa's overstrung nerves were startled. She looked up at the
lady in amazement, as, without a word of explanation, she said to the
woman who had hurried in:

"The blue robe I wore at the festival of Adonis, my mother's diadem,
and a large gem with the head of Serapis for my shoulder. My hair--oh,
a veil will cover it! What does it matter for an old woman?--You, child,
why do you look at me in such amazement? What mother would allow a
pretty young daughter to appear alone in the Circus? Besides, I may
surely hope that it will confirm your courage to feel that I am at your
side. Perhaps the populace may be moved a little in your favor if the
wife of the high-priest of their greatest god is your companion."

But she could scarcely end her speech, for Melissa had flown into her
arms, exclaiming, "And you will do this for me?" while Alexander, deeply
touched by gratitude and joy, kissed her thin arm and the hem of her
peplos.

While Melissa helped the matron to change her dress--in the next room
Alexander paced to and fro in great unrest. He knew the Alexandrians,
and there was not the slightest doubt but that the presence of this
universally revered lady would make them look with kindlier eyes on his
sister. Nothing else could so effectually impress them with the entire
propriety of her appearance in the Circus. The more seriously he had
feared that Melissa might be deeply insulted and offended by the rough
demonstrations of the mob, the more gratefully did his heart beat; nay,
his facile nature saw in this kind act the first smile of returning good
fortune.

He only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present--as so many
philosophers and poets advised--and especially the show in the Circus,
his last pleasure, perhaps; to forget the imminent future.

The old bright look came back to his face; but it soon vanished, for
even while he pictured himself in the amphitheatre, he remembered that
there, too, his former acquaintances might refuse to speak to him; that
the odious names of "Tarautas' brother-in-law" or of "traitor" might be
shouted after him on the road. A cold chill came over him, and the image
of pretty Ino rose up before him