to be stronger than ever before, that the greatest of all
powers had become his ally. Now it was difficult for him to understand
how he could have turned away from the deity. As an artist he, too, was a
creator, and, while he believed those who considered the universe had
come into existence of itself, instead of having been created, he had
robbed himself of the most sublime model. Besides, the greatest charm of
his noble profession was lost to him. Now he knew it, and was striving
toward the goal attainable by the artist alone among mortals--to hold
intercourse with the deity, and by creations full of its essence elevate
the world to its grandeur and beauty.

One day, at the end of the second month of his stay in the desert, when
the Amalekite woman removed the bandage, her boy, whose form he
distinguished as if through a veil, suddenly exclaimed: "The white cover
on your eyes is melting! They are beginning to sparkle a little, and soon
they will be perfectly well, and you can carve the lion's head on my
cane."

Perhaps the artist might really have succeeded in doing so, but he
forbade himself the attempt.

He thought that the time for departure had now arrived, and an
irresistible longing urged him back to the world and Daphne.

But he could not resist the entreaties of the old sheik and his daughter
not to risk what he had gained, so he continued to use the shade of
leaves, and allowed himself to be persuaded to defer his departure until
the dimness which still prevented his seeing anything distinctly passed
away.

True, the beautiful peace which he had enjoyed of late was over and,
besides, anxiety for the dear ones in distant lands was constantly
increasing. He had had no news of them for a long time, and when he
imagined what fate might have overtaken Archias, and his daughter with
him, if he had been carried back to the enraged King in Alexandria, a
terrible dread took possession of him, which scattered even joy in his
wonderful recovery to the four winds, and finally led him to the
resolution to return to the world at any risk and devote himself to those
whose fate was nearer to his heart than his own weal and woe.

ETEXT EDITOR'S BOOKMARKS:

Forbidden the folly of spoiling the present by remorse
Two griefs always belong to one joy

ARACHNE

By Georg Ebers

Volume 8.

CHAPTER XIII.

Hermon, filled with longing, went down toward evening to the shore.

The sun was