o forced labor in the mines had their relations
sent after them. Ah! child, the words of Asclepiodorus have a sinister
meaning. The calmness and pride, with which you look at me make me fear
for you, and yet, as you know, I am not one of the timid and tremulous.
Certainly what they propose to you is repulsive enough, but submit to it;
it is to be hoped it will not be for long. Do it for my sake and for that
of poor Irene, for though you might know how to assert your dignity and
take care of yourself outside these walls in the rough and greedy world,
little Irene never could. And besides, Klea, my sweetheart, we have now
found some one, who makes your concerns his, and who is great and
powerful--but oh! what are three clays? To think of seeing you turned
out--and then that you may be driven with a dissolute herd in a filthy
boat down to the burning south, and dragged to work which kills first the
soul and then the body! No, it is not possible! You will never let this
happen to me--and to yourself and Irene; no, my darling, no, my pet, my
sweetheart, you cannot, you will not do so. Are you not my children, my
daughters, my only joy? and you, would you go away, and leave me alone in
my cage, all because you are so proud!"

The strong man's voice failed him, and heavy drops fell from his eyes one
after another down his beard, and on to Klea's arm, which he had grasped
with both hands.

The girl's eyes too were dim with a mist of warm tears when she saw her
rough friend weeping, but she remained firm and said, as she tried to
free her hand from his:

"You know very well, father Serapion, that there is much to tie me to
this temple; my sister, and you, and the door-keeper's child, little
Philo. It would be cruel, dreadful to have to leave you; but I would
rather endure that and every other grief than allow Irene to take the
place of Arsinoe or the black Doris as wailing woman. Think of that
bright child, painted and kneeling at the foot of a bier and groaning and
wailing in mock sorrow! She would become a living lie in human form, an
object of loathing to herself, and to me--who stand in the place of a
mother to her--from morning till night a martyrizing reproach! But what
do I care about myself--I would disguise myself as the goddess without
even making a wry face, and be led to the bier, and wail and groan so
that every hearer would be cut to the heart, for my soul is already
possessed by sorrow; it is like the eyes of a