d then, in a tone of the most earnest
warning, poured forth the story of the impending danger. She would not
be satisfied when he spoke of the Ephebi, who were ready to defend him,
and the council, which would make the cause of one of its members its
own, but entreated him to seek some safe place of refuge, no matter
where; for powers against whom no resistance would avail were stretching
their hands towards him. Even this statement, however, proved useless,
for Dion was convinced that the influence of his uncle, the Keeper of
the Seal, would guard him from any serious danger. Then Anukis resolved
to confess what she had overheard; but she told the story without
mentioning Barine, and the peril threatening her also. Finally, with
all the warmth of a really anxious heart, she entreated him to heed her
warning.

Even while she was still speaking, the friends exchanged significant
glances; but scarcely had the last words fallen from her lips when the
giant figure of the freedman passed through the door, which had remained
open.

"You here, Pyrrhus?" cried the wounded man kindly.

"Yes, master, it is I," replied the stalwart fellow, twirling his sailor
hat still faster. "Listening isn't exactly my trade, and I don't usually
enter your presence uninvited; but I couldn't help hearing what came
through the door, and the croaking of the old raven drew me in."

"I wish you had heard more cheerful things," replied Dion; "but the
brown-skinned bird of ill omen usually sings pleasant songs, and they
all come from a faithful heart. But when my silent Pyrrhus opens his
mouth so far, something important must surely follow, and you can speak
freely in her presence."

The sailor cleared his throat, gripped his coarse felt hat in his sinewy
hands, and said, in such a tremulous, embarrassed tone that his heavy
chin quivered and his voice sometimes faltered: "If the woman is to be
trusted, you must leave here, master, and seek some safe hiding-place. I
came to offer one. On my way I heard your name. It was said that you
had wounded the Queen's son, and it might cost you your life. Then I
thought: 'No, no, not that, so long as Pyrrhus lives, who taught his
young master Dion to use the oars and to set his first sail--Pyrrhus
and his family.' Why repeat what we both know well enough? From my first
boat and the land on our island to the liberty you bestowed upon us, we
owe everything to your father and to you, and a blessing has rested up