ry every innocent wile that a
modest maiden may permit herself: he was ever the friend, never the lover.
At length, after long pining between despairing fondness and wounded pride,
I myself turned away, and listened to one who left me in no doubt of the
sincerity of his passion."

"Who?"

"The Emperor! And, to shorten the story of my shame, I became his
mistress."

"The saints be praised!" shouted Photinius. "O my incomparable daughter!"

"Father!" cried Euprepia, blushing and indignant. "But let me hurry on with
my wretched tale. In proportion as the Emperor's affection became more
marked, Helladius, hitherto so buoyant and serene, became a visible prey to
despondency. Some scornful beauty, I deemed, was inflicting on him the
tortures he had previously inflicted upon me, and, cured of my unhappy
attachment, and entirely devoted to my Imperial lover, I did all in my
power to encourage him. He received my comfort with gratitude, nor did it,
as I had feared might happen, seem to excite the least lover-like feeling
towards me on his own part."

"Euprepia," he said only two days ago, "never in this Court have I met one
like thee. Thou art the soul of honour and generosity. I can safely trust
thee with a secret which my bursting heart can no longer retain, but which
I dread to breathe even to myself. Know first I am not what I seem, I am a
woman!" And opening his vest--"

"We know all about that already," interrupted Photinius. "Get on!"

"If thou knowest this already, father," said the astonished Euprepia, "thou
wilt spare me the pain of entering further into Helladia's affection for
Basil. Suffice that it was impassioned beyond description, and vied with
whatever history or romance records. In her male costume she had
accompanied the conqueror of the Bulgarians in his campaigns, she had
fought in his battles; a gigantic foe, in act to strike him from behind,
had fallen by her arrow; she had warded the poison-cup from his lips, and
the assassin's dagger from his heart; she had rejected enormous wealth
offered as a bribe for treachery, and lived only for the Emperor. 'And
now,' she cried, 'his love for me is cold, and he deserts me for another.
Who she is I cannot find, else on her it were, not on him, that my
vengeance should alight. Oh, Euprepia, I would tear her eyes from her head,
were they beautiful as thine! But vengeance I must have. Basil must die. On
the third day he expires by my hand, poisoned by the cup wh