osed upon me, and move on
through the darkness with joyous courage, like many another blind man, I
could not succeed."

"You are a man," the matron exclaimed indignantly, "and what thousands
have done before you--"

"There," he loudly protested, "I should surely fail; for, you dear woman,
who mean so kindly by me, my fate is worse than theirs. Do you know what
just forced from my lips the exclamation of pain which alarmed you? I,
the only child of the devout Erigone, for whose sake you are so well
disposed toward me, am doomed to misfortune as surely as the victim
dragged to the altar is certain of death. Of all the goddesses, there is
only one in whose power I believe, and to whom I just raised my hands in
prayer. It is the terrible one to whom I was delivered by hate and the
deceived love which is now dragging me by the hair, and will rob and
torture me till I despair of life. I mean the gray daughter of Night,
whom no one escapes, dread Nemesis."

Thyone sank down into the chair by the blind artist's side, asking
softly, "And what gave you into her avenging hands, hapless boy?"

"My own abominable folly," he answered mournfully and, with the feeling
that it would relieve his heart to pour out to this true friend what he
would usually have confided only to his Myrtilus, he hurriedly related
how he had recognised in Ledscha the best model for his Arachne, how he
had sought her love, and then, detained by Althea, left her in the lurch
and most deeply offended and insulted her. Lastly, he gave a brief but
vivid description of his meeting with the vengeful barbarian girl in the
Temple of Nemesis, how Ledscha had invoked upon him the wrath of the
terrible goddess, and how the most horrible punishment had fallen upon
him directly after the harsh accusation of the Biamite.

The matron had listened to this confession in breathless suspense. Now
she fixed her eyes on the floor, shook her gray head gently, and said
anxiously: "Is that it? It certainly puts things in a different light. As
the son of your never-to-be-forgotten mother, you are indeed dear to my
heart; but Daphne is not less dear to me, and though in your marriage I
just saw happiness for you both, that is now past. What is poverty, what
is blindness! Eros would reconcile far more difficult problems, but his
arrows are shattered on the armour of Nemesis. Where there is a pair of
lovers, and she raises her scourge against one of them, the other will
also be str