s, as a hint to be cautious, and whispered in his ear,
"Speak quickly and low, if you love your life!"

When Philip had hastily explained that Zminis had imprisoned his father,
the old man started to his feet with a promptitude to which his majestic
person was unaccustomed, and pointed to a curtained doorway on one side
of the room.

"Through that door," he whispered, "you will reach the western steps, and
the passage leading out of the precincts to the stadium. You are known to
the Romans in the anteroom. It is not the god to whom this building is
dedicated who now rules within these walls. Your brother's rash words are
repeated everywhere, and have even come to Caesar's knowledge; and he has
been told that it was the same traitor--who has for the moment escaped
Zminis and his men--who nailed a rope on one of our doors, and with it an
audacious inscription. To speak a single word in behalf of Alexander or
your father would be to fling myself into the fire without putting it
out. You do not know how fiercely it is burning. Theocritus is feeding
the flame, for he needs it to destroy the prefect. Now, not another word;
and, come what may, so long as the Roman visitors dwell under this roof,
beware of it!"

And the high-priest opened the door with his own hand.

"I hurried home," Philip added, "and if I forgot, in my dismay at this
fresh disaster, to warn Glaukias to be careful--But, no, no! It is
unpardonable!--Alexander is by this time crossing the lake, perhaps. I am
like Caracalla--my brother's murderer!"

But Melissa laid her arm on his shoulder and besought the poor fellow to
be comforted; and her loving words of excuse seemed to have some good
effect. But why was he always so reserved? Why could not Philip be as
frank with her as Alexander was? She had never been very near to him; and
now he was concealing from her something which moved him deeply.

She turned away sadly, for she could not even comfort him. But then again
Philip sighed from the bottom of his heart, and she could contain her
self no longer. More tenderly than she had ever addressed him before, she
besought her brother to open his heart to her. She would gladly help him
to endure what oppressed him; and she could understand, for she herself
had learned what the joys and sorrows of love were.

She had found the right clew. Philip nodded, and answered gloomily:

"Well, then, listen. It may do me good to speak." And thereupon he began
to tell her