ation of the divine
goodness which rewards the sowing of seed with the harvest. When Hermon
created it, Daphne's image had hovered before his mind, even if he had
not been permitted to use her as a model, and of all the maidens whom he
knew there was scarcely one better suited to serve as the type for the
Demeter.

So what he had seen in Pelusium, and learned from women, was true. The
heart and mind of the artist who had created this work were not filled
with the image of Althea--who during the journey had bestowed many a mark
of favour upon the aging man, and with whom he was obliged to work hand
in hand for Queen Arsinoe's plans--but the daughter of Archias, and this
circumstance also aided in producing his change of view.

Hermon's blindness, it was to be hoped, would be cured.

Duty, and perhaps also interest, commanded him to show him frankly how
highly he estimated his art and his last work.

After the arrival of Thyone and Daphne, Hermon had consented to accompany
them on board the Proserpina, their spacious galley. True, he had yielded
reluctantly to this arrangement of his parents' old friend, and neither
she nor Daphne had hitherto succeeded in soothing the fierce resentment
against fate which filled his soul after the loss of his sight and his
dearest friend. As yet every attempt to induce him to bear his terrible
misfortune with even a certain degree of composure had failed.

The Tennis leech, trained by the Egyptian priests at Sais in the art of
healing, who was attached as a pastophorus to the Temple of Isis, in the
city of weavers, had covered the artist's scorched face with bandages,
and earnestly adjured him never in his absence to raise them, and to keep
every ray of light from his blinded eyes. But the agitation which had
mastered Hermon's whole being was so great that, in spite of the woman's
protestations, he lifted the covering again and again to see whether he
could not perceive once more at least a glimmer of the sunlight whose
warming power he felt. The thought of living in darkness until the end of
his life seemed unendurable, especially as now all the horrors which,
hitherto, had only visited him in times of trial during the night
assailed him with never-ceasing cruelty.

The image of the spider often forced itself upon him, and he fancied that
the busy insect was spreading its quickly made web over his blinded eyes,
which he was not to touch, yet over which he passed his hand to free the