ar, and flung it so violently
across the room, that it uttered a pitiful cry of pain. The dog had
belonged to Sirona since she was quite a girl, it had come with her to
Rome, and from thence to the oasis; it clung to her with affection, and
she to it, for Iambe liked no one to caress and stroke her so much as her
mistress. She was so much alone, and the greyhound was always with her,
and not only entertained her by such tricks as any other dog might have
learned, but was to her a beloved, dumb, but by no means deaf, companion
from her early home, who would prick its ears when she spoke the name of
her dear little sisters in distant Arelas, from whom she had not heard
for years; or it would look sadly in her face, and kiss her white hands,
when longing forced tears into her eyes.

In her solitary, idle, childless existence Iambe was much, very much, to
her, and now as she saw her faithful companion and friend creep
ill-treated and whining up to her bed--as the supple animal tried in vain
to spring up and take refuge in her lap, and held out to his mistress his
trembling, perhaps broken, little paw, fear vanished from the miserable
young woman's heart--she sprang from her couch, took the little dog in
her arms, and exclaimed with a glance, which flashed with anything rather
than fear or repentance: "You do not touch the poor little beast again,
if you take my advice."

"I will drown it to-morrow morning," replied Phoebicius with perfect
indifference, but with an evil smile on his flaccid lips. "So many
two-legged lovers make themselves free to my house, that I do not see why
I should share your affections with a quadruped into the bargain. How
came this sheepskin here?" Sirona vouchsafed no answer to this last
question, but she exclaimed in great excitement, "By God--by your God--by
the mighty Rock, and by all the gods! if you do the little beast a harm,
it will be the last day I stop in your house."

"Hear her!" said the centurion, "and where do you propose to travel to?
The desert is wide and there is room and to spare to starve in it, and
for your bones to bleach there. How grieved your lovers would be--for
their sakes I will take care before drowning the dog to lock in its
mistress."

"Only try to touch me," screamed Sirona beside herself, and springing to
the window. "If you lay a finger on me, I will call for help, and
Dorothea and her husband will protect me against you."

"Hardly," answered Phoebicius drily.