aught at it, and with hurried breath followed it out, till she thought
she had now hit upon the right way to preserve from death the man who was
so rich and powerful, who had given her nothing but taken everything from
her, and to whom, nevertheless, she--the poor water-bearer whom he had
thought to trifle with--could now bestow the most precious of the gifts
of the immortals, namely, life.

Serapion had said, and she was willing to believe, that Publius was not
base, and he certainly was not one of those who could prove ungrateful to
a preserver. She longed to earn the right to demand something of him, and
that could be nothing else but that he should give up her sister and
bring Irene back to her.

When could it be that he had come to an understanding with the
inexperienced and easily wooed maiden? How ready she must have been to
clasp the hand held out to her by this man! Nothing surprised her in
Irene, the child of the present; she could comprehend too that Irene's
charm might quickly win the heart even of a grave and serious man.

And yet--in all the processions it was never Irene that he had gazed at,
but always herself, and how came it to pass that he had given a prompt
and ready assent to the false invitation to go out to meet her in the
desert at midnight? Perhaps she was still nearer to his heart than Irene,
and if gratitude drew him to her with fresh force then--aye then--he
might perhaps woo her, and forget his pride and her lowly position, and
ask her to be his wife.

She thought this out fully, but before she had reached the half circle
enclosed by the Philosophers' busts the question occurred to her mind.
And Irene?

Had she gone with him and quitted her without bidding her farewell
because the young heart was possessed with a passionate love for
Publius--who was indeed the most lovable of men? And he? Would he indeed,
out of gratitude for what she hoped to do for him, make up his mind, if
she demanded it, to make her Irene his wife--the poor but more than
lovely daughter of a noble house?

And if this were possible, if these two could be happy in love and honor,
should she Klea come between the couple to divide them? Should she
jealously snatch Irene from his arms and carry her back to the gloomy
temple which now--after she had fluttered awhile in sportive freedom in
the sunny air--would certainly seem to her doubly sinister and
unendurable? Should she be the one to plunge Irene into misery--Irene,