of another world than this where he dwelt. Perhaps these
were daimons, the souls of departed Egyptians, who, after a midnight
visit to those they had left behind them, were returning to the rock
tombs, of which there were many in the stony hills to which this street
led. They were walking toward these tombs, and not toward the gate; and
Diodoros whispered his suspicion to his companion, clasping his hand on
an amulet in the semblance of an eye, which his Egyptian nurse had
fastened round his neck long ago with an Anubic thread, to protect him
against the evil-eye and magic spells.

But Melissa was listening with such devout attention to the chant that
she did not hear him. The fatigue which had reached such a painful climax
had, during this peaceful rest, given way to a blissful unconsciousness
of self. It was a kind of happiness to feel no longer the burden of
exhaustion, and the song of the wanderers was like a cradle-song, lulling
her to sweet dreams. It filled her with gladness, and yet it was not
glad, not even cheerful. It went to her heart, and yet it was not
mournful-not in the least like the passionate lament of Isis for Osiris,
or that of Demeter bewailing her daughter. The emotion it aroused in her
was a sweetly sorrowful compassion, which included herself, her brothers,
her father, her lover, all who were doomed to suffering and death, even
the utter stranger, for whom she had hitherto felt no sympathy.

And the compassion bore within it a sense of comfort which she could not
explain, or perhaps would not inquire into. It struck her, too, now and
then, that the strain had a ring as of thanksgiving. It was, no doubt,
addressed to the gods, and for that reason it appealed to her, and she
would gladly have joined in it, for she, too, was grateful to the
immortals, and above all to Eros, for the love which had been born in her
heart and had found such an ardent return. She sighed as she listened to
every note of the chant, and it worked upon her like a healing draught.

The struggle of her will against bodily fatigue, and finally against the
mental exhaustion of so much bliss, the conviction that her heavy, weary
feet would perhaps fail to carry her home, and that she must seek shelter
somewhere for the night, had disturbed her greatly. Now she was quite
calm, and as much at ease as she was at home sitting with her father, her
stitching in her hand, while she dreamed of her mother and her childhood
in the past.