rince might have
permitted to wait upon him. Her hump had never seemed to her so bent, nor
her brown skin so ugly at any other time as it did to-day, when side by
side with this symmetrical and delicate girlish form, rounded to such
tender contours.

But Mary felt not the smallest movement of envy. She only felt happy to
help Selene, to serve her, to be allowed to gaze at her although she was
a heathen. During the night too, she had prayed fervently that the Lord
might graciously draw to himself this lovely, gentle creature, that He
might permit her to recover, and fill her soul with the same love for the
Saviour that gave joy to her own. More than once she had longed to kiss
her, but she dared not, for it seemed to her as though the sick girl were
made of finer stuff than she herself.

Selene felt tired, very tired, and as the pain diminished, a comfortable
sense stole over her of peace and respite in the silent and loving
homeliness of her surroundings; a feeling that was new and very soothing,
though it was interrupted, now and again, by her anxiety for those at
home. Dame Hannah's presence did her good, for she fancied she recognized
in her voice something that had been peculiar to her mother's, when she
had played with her and pressed her with special affection to her heart.

In the papyrus factory, at the gumming-table, the sight of the little
hunchback had disgusted Selene, but here she observed what good eyes she
had, and how kind a voice, and the care with which Mary lifted the
compress from her foot--as softly, as if in her own hands she felt the
pain that Selene was suffering--and then laid another on the broken
ankle, aroused her gratitude. Her sister Arsinoe was a vain and thorough
Alexandrian girl, and she had nicknamed the poor thing after the ugliest
of the Hellenes who had besieged Troy. "Dame Thersites," and Selene
herself had often repeated it. Now she forgot the insulting name
altogether, and met the objections of her nurse by saying:

"The fever cannot be much now; if you tell me something I shall not think
so constantly of this atrocious pain. I am longing to be at home. Did you
see the children?"

"No, Selene. I went no farther than the entrance of your dwelling, and
the kind gate-keeper's wife told me at once that I should find neither
your father nor your sister, and that your slave-woman was gone out to
buy cakes for the children."

"To buy them!" exclaimed Selene in astonishment. "The ol