mpanion in misfortune he
vaguely felt himself to be. But, what was worst of all, he could not
regard himself as altogether free from the reproach of having accepted a
reward for the service he had so thoughtlessly rendered.

Nor did he see the remotest possibility of ever making those whose
opinion he cared for understand how it had come to pass that he should
have acceded to the desire of the villain in the purple, now that his
father, by showing himself to the people in the 'toga pretexta', had set
the seal to their basest suspicions. The thought that henceforth he could
never hope to feel the grasp of an honest man's hand gnawed at his heart.

The esteem of Diodoros was dear to him, and, when his young comrade spoke
to him, he felt at first as though he were doing him an unexpected honor;
but then he fell back into the suspicion that this was only for his
sister's sake.

The deep sigh that broke from him induced Melissa to speak a few words of
comfort, and now the unhappy man's bursting heart overflowed. In eloquent
words he described to Diodoros and Melissa all he had felt, and the
terrible consequences of his heedless folly, and as he spoke acute regret
filled his eyes with tears.

He had pronounced judgment on himself, and expected nothing of his friend
but a little pity. But in the darkness Diodoros sought and found his
hand, and grasped it fervently; and if Alexander could but have seen his
old playfellow's face, he would have perceived that his eyes glistened as
he said what he could to encourage him to hope for better days.

Diodoros knew his friend well. He was incapable of falsehood; and his
deed, which under a false light so easily assumed an aspect of villainy,
had, in fact, been no more than an act of thoughtlessness such as he had
himself often lent a hand in. Alexander, however, seemed determined not
to hear the comfort offered him by his sister and his friend. A flash of
lightning revealed him to them, sitting with a bent head and his hands
over his brow; and this gloomy vision of one who so lately had been the
gayest of the gay troubled their revived happiness even more than the
thought of the danger which, as each knew, threatened the others.

As they passed the Temple of Artemis, which was brightly illuminated,
reminding them that they were reaching their destination, Alexander at
last looked up and begged the lovers to consider their immediate affairs.
His mind had remained clear, and what he