setting, and the riot of colours in the western horizon
seemed like a mockery of the torturing anxiety which had mastered his
soul.

He did not notice the boat that was approaching the land; many travellers
who intended to go through Arabia Petrea landed here, and for several
days--he knew why--there had been more stir in these quiet waters.

Suddenly he was surprised by the ringing shout with which he had formerly
announced his approach to Myrtilus.

Unconsciously agitated by joy, as if the sunset glow before him had
suddenly been transformed into the dawn of a happy day, he answered by a
loud cry glad with hope. Although his dim eyes did not yet permit him to
distinguish who was standing erect in the boat, waving greetings to him,
he thought he knew whom this exquisite evening was bringing.

Soon his own name reached him. It was his "wise Bias" who shouted, and
soon, with a throbbing heart, he held out both hands to him.

The freedman had performed his commission in the best possible manner,
and was now no longer bound to silence by oath.

Ledscha had left him and Myrtilus to themselves and, as Bias thought he
had heard, had sailed with the Gaul Lutarius for Paraetonium, the
frontier city between the kingdom of Egypt and that of Cyrene.

Myrtilus felt stronger than he had done for a long time, and had sent him
back to the blind friend who would need him more than he did.

But worthy Bias also brought messages from Archias and Daphne. They were
well, and his uncle now had scarcely any cause to fear pursuers.

Before the landing of the boat, the shade had covered Hermon's eyes; but
when, after the freedman's first timid question about his sight, he
raised it again, at the same time reporting and showing what progress he
had already made toward recovery, the excess of joy overpowered the
freedman, and sometimes laughing, sometimes weeping, he kissed the
convalescent's hands and simple robe. It was some time before he calmed
himself again, then laying his forefinger on the side of his nose, he
said: "Therein the immortals differ from human beings. We sculptors can
only create good work with good tools, but the immortals often use the
very poorest of all to accomplish the best things. You owe your sight to
the hate of this old witch and mother of pirates, so may she find peace
in the grave. She is dead. I heard it from a fellow-countryman whom I met
in Herocipolis. Her end came soon after our visit."

Then Bias r