on the head; she
heard the dull blow. At this a cold hand seemed to clutch her heart;
everything about her melted into one whirling, colorless cloud. Pale as
death, she threw up her arms to protect herself, and then, overcome with
terror and fatigue, with a faint cry of anguish she lost consciousness.

When she opened her eyes again her head was resting in the lap of a kind,
motherly woman, while some men were just bearing away the senseless form
of Diodoros on a bier.

CHAPTER VI.

The sun had risen an hour since. Heron had betaken himself to his
workshop, whistling as he went, and in the kitchen his old slave Argutis
was standing over the hearth preparing his master's morning meal. He
dropped a pinch of dill into the barley-porridge, and shook his gray head
solemnly.

His companion Dido, a Syrian, whose wavy white hair contrasted strangely
with her dark skin, presently came in, and, starting up, he hastily
inquired, "Not in yet?"

"No," said the other woman, whose eyes were full of tears. "And you know
what my dream was. Some evil has come to her, I am certain; and when the
master hears of it--" Here she sobbed aloud; but the slave reproved her
for useless weeping.

"You never carried her in your arms," whimpered the woman.

"But often enough on my shoulder," retorted the Gaul, for Argutis was a
native of Augusta Trevirorum, on the Moselle. "Assoon as the porridge is
ready you must take it in and prepare the master."

"That his first fury may fall on me!" said the old woman, peevishly. "I
little thought when I was young!"

"That is a very old story," said Argutis, "and we both know what the
master's temper is. I should have been off long ago if only you could
make his porridge to his mind. As soon as I have dished it I will go to
seek Alexander--there is nothing to prevent me--for it was with him that
she left the house."

At this the old woman dried her tears, and cried "Yes, only go, and make
haste. I will do everything else. Great gods, if she should be brought
home dead! I know how it is; she could bear the old man's temper and this
moping life no longer, and has thrown herself into the water.

"My dream, my dream! Here--here is the dish, and now go and find the boy.
Still, Philip is the elder."

"He!" exclaimed the slave in a scornful tone. "Yes, if you want to know
what the flies are talking about! Alexander for me. He has his head
screwed on the right way, and he will find her if any man i