represent was a thing
neither human nor divine; it was beauty itself--that beauty of which I
have often dreamed in blissful rapture.

"And yet--do not misapprehend me--I never thought of bewailing the
maiden, or grieving over her early death. She was but sleeping--I could
fancy: I watched one I loved in her slumbers. My heart beat high! Ay,
child, and the work I did was pure joy, such joy as only the gods on
Olympus know at their golden board. Every feature, every line was of such
perfection as only the artist's soul can conceive of, nay, even dream of.
The ecstasy remained, but my unrest gave way to an indescribable and
wordless bliss. I drew with the red chalk, and mixed the colors with the
grinder, and all the while I could not feel the painful sense of painting
a corpse. If she were slumbering, she had fallen asleep with bright
images in her memory. I even fancied again and again that her lips moved
her exquisitely chiseled mouth, and that a faint breath played with her
abundant, waving, shining brown hair, as it does with yours.

"The Muse sped my hand and the portrait--Bion and the rest will praise
it, I think, though it is no more like the unapproachable original than
that lamp is like the evening star yonder."

"And shall we be allowed to see it?" asked Melissa, who had been
listening breathlessly to her brother's narrative.

The words seemed to have snatched the artist from a dream. He had to
pause and consider where he was and to whom he was speaking. He hastily
pushed the curling hair off his damp brow, and said:

"I do not understand. What is it you ask?"

"I only asked whether we should be allowed to see the portrait," she
answered timidly. "I was wrong to interrupt you. But how hot your head
is! Drink again before you go on. Had you really finished by sundown?"

Alexander shook his head, drank, and then went on more calmly: "No, no!
It is a pity you spoke. In fancy I was painting her still. There is the
moon rising already. I must make haste. I have told you all this for
Philip's sake, not for my own."

"I will not interrupt you again, I assure you," said Melissa. "Well,
well," said her brother. "There is not much that is pleasant left to
tell. Where was I?"

"Painting, so long as it was light--"

"To be sure--I remember. It began to grow dark. Then lamps were brought
in, large ones, and as many as I wished for. Just before sunset
Seleukus, Korinna's father, came in to look upon his daughter