moment; for she suddenly remembered that they
would presently have to pass through the gate leading past Hadrian's
western wall into the town. If Zminis were waiting there instead of on
the bridge, and were to search the vehicle, then all would be lost, for
he had looked her, too, in the face with those strange, fixed eyes of
his; and that where he saw the sister he would also seek the brother,
seemed to her quite certain. Thus her presence was a source of peril to
Alexander, and she must at any cost avert that.

She immediately put out her hand to Diodoros, who was walking at her
side, and with his help slipped down from her seat. Then she whispered
her fears to him, and begged him to quit the party and conduct her home.

This was a surprising and delightful task for her lover. With a jesting
word he leaped on to the car, and even succeeded in murmuring to
Alexander, unobserved, that Melissa had placed herself under his
protection. When they got home, they could tell Heron and Andreas that
the youths were safe in hiding. Melissa could explain, to-morrow morning,
how everything had happened. Then he drew Melissa's arm through his,
loudly shouted, "Iakchos!" and with a swift dance-step soon outstripped
the wagon.

Not fifty paces beyond, large pine torches sent bright flames up skyward,
and by their light the girl could see the dreaded gateway, with the
statues of Hadrian and Sabina, and in front of them, in the middle of the
road, a horseman, who, as they approached, came trotting forward to meet
them on his tall steed. His head towered above every one else in the
road; and as she looked up at him her heart almost ceased beating, for
her eyes met those of the dreaded Egyptian; their white balls showed
plainly in his brown, lean face, and their cruel, evil sparkle had
stamped them clearly on her memory.

On her right a street turned off from the road, and saying in a low tone,
"This way," she led Diodoros, to his surprise, into the shadow. His heart
beat high. Did she, whose coy and maidenly austerity before and after the
intoxication of the dance had vouchsafed him hardly a kind look or a
clasp of the hand-did she even yearn for some tender embrace alone and in
darkness? Did the quiet, modest girl, who, since she had ceased to be a
child, had but rarely given him a few poor words, long to tell him that
which hitherto only her bright eyes and the kiss of her pure young lips
had betrayed?

He drew her more closely t