lf, how, with the mountain of care that now burdens my soul, I can
waste even a single word upon such trifles. I care as little for the aged
scholar as I do for his legion of commentaries and books, though they are
not wholly unfamiliar to me. For any concern of mine he might have as
many grandchildren as there are evil tongues in Alexandria, were it not
that just at this time it is of the utmost importance to remove
everything which might cast a shadow on the Queen's pathway. I have just
come from the palace of the royal children at Lochias, and what I learned
there. But that--I will not, I cannot believe it. It fairly stifles me!"

"Have you received bad news from the fleet?" questioned Dion, with
sincere anxiety; but she only bent her head in assent, laying her fan of
ostrich-plumes on her lips to enjoin silence, at the same time shivering
so violently that he perceived it, even in the dusk. It was evident that
speech was difficult, as she added in a muffled tone: "It must be kept
secret--Rhodian sailors--thank the gods, it is still very doubtful--it
cannot, must not be true--and yet-the prattle of that zither-player,
which has filled the multitude with joyous anticipation, is
abominable--the great ones of the earth are often most sorely injured by
those who owe them the most gratitude. I know you can be silent, Dion.
You could as a boy, if anything was to be hidden from our parents. Would
you still be ready to plunge into the water for me, as in those days?
Scarcely. Yet you may be trusted, and, even in this labyrinth, I will do
so. My heart is heavy. But not one word to any person. I need no
confidant and could maintain silence even towards you, but I am anxious
that you should understand me, you who have just taken such a stand.
Before I entered my litter at Lochias, the boy returned, and I talked
with him."

"Young Caesarion loves Barine," replied Dion with grave earnestness.

"Then this horrible folly is known?" asked Iras excitedly. "A passion far
deeper than I should ever have expected this dreamer to feel has taken
possession of him. And if the Queen should now return--perhaps less
successful than we desire--if she looks to those from whom she still
expects pleasure, satisfaction, lofty deeds, and learns what has befallen
the boy--for what does not that sun-bright intellect learn and perceive?
He is dear to her, dearer than any of you imagine. How it will increase
her anxiety, perhaps her suffering! With wha