een figures and things half veiled by the smoke, he
beheld only a scarlet surface, which changed to a violet, and finally a
black spot, followed by a violet-blue one, while the vulture continued to
rend his face with beak and talons.

Then the name "Myrtilus!" once more escaped his lips; this time, however,
it did not sound like the encouraging shout of an avenging hero, but the
cry for aid of one succumbing to defeat, and it was soon followed by a
succession of frantic outbursts of suffering, terror, and despair.

But now sharp whistles from the water shrilly pierced the air and
penetrated into the darkened room, and, while the tumult around Hermon
gradually died away, he strove, tortured by burning pain, to grope his
way toward the door; but here his foot struck against a human body, there
against something hard, whose form he could not distinguish, and finally
a large object which felt cool, and could be nothing but his Demeter.

But she seemed doomed to destruction, for the smoke was increasing every
moment, and constantly made his open wounds smart more fiercely.

Suddenly a cooler air fanned his burning face, and at the same time he
heard hurrying steps approach and the mingled cries of human voices.

Again he began to shout the names of his friends, the slaves, and the
porter; but no answer came from any of them, though hasty questions in
the Greek language fell upon his ear.

The strategist, with his officers, the nomarch of the district with his
subordinates, and many citizens of Tennis had arrived. Hermon knew most
of them by their voices, but their figures were not visible. The red,
violet, and black cloud before him was all he could see.

Yet, although the pain continued to torture him, and a voice in his soul
told him that he was blinded, he did not allow the government officials
who eagerly surrounded him to speak, only pointed hastily to his eyes,
and then bade them enter Myrtilus's studio. The Egyptian Chello, the
Tennis goldsmith, who had assisted the artists in the preparation of the
noble metal, and one of the police officers who had been summoned to rid
the old house of the rats and mice which infested it, both knew the way.

They must first try to save Myrtilus's work and, when that was
accomplished, preserve his also from destruction by the flames.

Leaning on the goldsmith's arm, Hermon went to his friend's studio; but
before they reached it smoke and flames poured out so densely that it wa