rdianship, by her side, the girl, as she knew,
would be protected from misapprehension and insult; and she, an old woman
and a Christian, should she evade the first opportunity of taking up a
cross in imitation of the Divine Master, among whose followers she
joyfully counted herself--though secretly, for fear of men? All this
flashed through her mind with the swiftness of lightning, and her call,
"Doris!" addressed to her waiting-woman, was so clear and unexpected that
Melissa's overstrung nerves were startled. She looked up at the lady in
amazement, as, without a word of explanation, she said to the woman who
had hurried in:

"The blue robe I wore at the festival of Adonis, my mother's diadem, and
a large gem with the head of Serapis for my shoulder. My hair--oh, a veil
will cover it! What does it matter for an old woman?--You, child, why do
you look at me in such amazement? What mother would allow a pretty young
daughter to appear alone in the Circus? Besides, I may surely hope that
it will confirm your courage to feel that I am at your side. Perhaps the
populace may be moved a little in your favor if the wife of the
high-priest of their greatest god is your companion."

But she could scarcely end her speech, for Melissa had flown into her
arms, exclaiming, "And you will do this for me?" while Alexander, deeply
touched by gratitude and joy, kissed her thin arm and the hem of her
peplos.

While Melissa helped the matron to change her dress--in the next room
Alexander paced to and fro in great unrest. He knew the Alexandrians, and
there was not the slightest doubt but that the presence of this
universally revered lady would make them look with kindlier eyes on his
sister. Nothing else could so effectually impress them with the entire
propriety of her appearance in the Circus. The more seriously he had
feared that Melissa might be deeply insulted and offended by the rough
demonstrations of the mob, the more gratefully did his heart beat; nay,
his facile nature saw in this kind act the first smile of returning good
fortune.

He only longed to be hopeful once more, to enjoy the present--as so many
philosophers and poets advised--and especially the show in the Circus,
his last pleasure, perhaps; to forget the imminent future.

The old bright look came back to his face; but it soon vanished, for even
while he pictured himself in the amphitheatre, he remembered that there,
too, his former acquaintances might refuse to sp