er, and wail and groan so
that every hearer would be cut to the heart, for my soul is already
possessed by sorrow; it is like the eyes of a man, who has gone blind
from the constant flow of salt tears. Perhaps singing the hymns of
lamentation might relieve my soul, which is as full of sorrow as an
overbrimming cup; but I would rather that a cloud should for ever darken
the sun, that mists should hide every star from my eyes, and the air
I breathe be poisoned by black smoke than disguise her identity,
and darken her soul, or let her clear laugh be turned to shrieks of
lamentation, and her fresh and childlike spirit be buried in gloomy
mourning. Sooner will I go way with her and leave even you, to perish
with my parents in misery and anguish than see that happen, or suffer it
for a moment."

As she spoke Serapion covered his face with his hands, and Klea, hastily
turning away from him, with a deep sigh returned to her room.

Irene was accustomed when she heard her step to hasten to meet her,
but to-day no one came to welcome her, and in their room, which was
beginning to be dark as twilight fell, she did not immediately catch
sight of her sister, for she was sitting all in a heap in a corner of
the room, her face hidden, in her hands and weeping quietly.

"What is the matter?" asked Klea, going tenderly up to the weeping
child, over whom she bent, endeavoring to raise her.

"Leave me," said Irene sobbing; she turned away from her sister with an
impatient gesture, repelling her caress like a perverse child; and then,
when Klea tried to soothe her by affectionately stroking her hair, she
sprang up passionately exclaiming through her tears:

"I could not help crying--and, from this hour, I must always have to
cry. The Corinthian Lysias spoke to me so kindly after the procession,
and you--you don't care about me at all and leave me alone all this time
in this nasty dusty hole! I declare I will not endure it any longer,
and if you try to keep me shut up, I will run away from this temple, for
outside it is all bright and pleasant, and here it is dingy and horrid!"

CHAPTER VII.

In the very midst of the white wall with its bastions and ramparts,
which formed the fortifications of Memphis, stood the old palace of the
kings, a stately structure built of bricks, recently plastered, and with
courts, corridors, chambers and halls without number, and veranda-like
out-buildings of gayly-painted wood, and a magnificent pil