?
but fie upon the servant who would alienate from his own kind master what
his soul desires!"

Then Bias changed not only his tone of voice, but his language, and,
deeply offended, poured forth a torrent of wrath in the dialect of his
people: "If to guard you, and my master with you, from harm, my words had
the power to put between you and Hermon the distance which separates
yonder rising moon from Tennis, I would make them sound as loud as the
lion's roar. Yet perhaps you would not understand them, for you go
through life as though you were deaf and blind. Did you ever even ask
yourself whether the Greek is not differently constituted from the sons
of the Biamite sailors and fishermen, with whom you grew up, and to whom
he is an abomination? Yet he is no more like them than poppy juice is
like pure water. He and his companions turn life upside down. There is no
more distinction between right and wrong in Alexandria than we here in
the dark can make between blue and green. To me, the slave, who is
already growing old, Hermon is a kind master. I know without your aid
what I owe him, and serve him as loyally as any one; but where he
threatens to lead to ruin the innocent daughter of the race whose blood
flows in my veins as well as yours, and in doing so perhaps finally
destroy himself too, conscience commands me to raise my voice as loud as
the sentinel crane when danger threatens the flock. Beware, girl, I
repeat! Keep your beauty, which is now to be degraded to feast the eyes
of gaping Greeks, for the worthiest husband among our people. Though
Hermon has vowed, I know not what, your love-dallying will very soon be
over; we shall leave Tennis within the next few days. When he has gone
there will be one more deceived Biamite who will call down the curse of
the gods upon the head of a Greek. You are not the only one who will
execrate the destiny that brought us here. Others have been caught in his
net too."

"Here?" asked Ledscha in a hollow tone; and the slave eagerly answered:
"Where else? And that you may know the truth--among those who visited
Hermon in his studio is your own young sister."

"Our Taus? That child?" exclaimed the girl, stretching her hands toward
the slave in horror, as if to ward off some impending disaster.

"That child, who, I think, has grown into a very charming girl--and,
before her, pretty Gula, the wife of Paseth, who, like your father, is
away on his ship."

Here, in a tone of triumphan