old couple had
materially diminished. Her hands moved nimbly, and her cheerful glance
showed that the lonely life on the island was beginning to unfold its
charms to her.

The young husband, however, had grown very uneasy. He concealed
it before the women, but old Pyrrhus often had much difficulty in
preventing his making a trip to the city which might imperil, on the eve
of the final decision, the result of their long endurance and privation.
Dion had often wished to set sail with his wife for a great city in
Syria or Greece, but fresh and mighty obstacles had deterred him. A
special danger lay in the fact that every large vessel was thoroughly
searched before it left the harbour, and it was impossible to escape
from it without passing through the narrow straits east of the Pharos or
the opening in the Heptastadium, both of which were easily guarded. The
calm moderation that usually distinguished the young counsellor had been
transformed into feverish restlessness, and the heart of his faithful
old monitor had also lost its poise; for an encounter between the fleet
in which his sons served and that of Octavianus was speedily expected.

One day he returned from the city greatly excited. Pelusium was said to
have fallen.

When he ascended the cliff he found everything quiet. No one, not even
Dione, came to meet him.

What had happened here?

Had the fugitives been discovered and dragged with his family to the
city to be thrown into prison, perhaps sent to the stone quarries?

Deadly pale, but erect and composed, he walked towards the house. He
owed to Dion and his father the greatest blessing in life, liberty, and
the foundation of everything else he possessed. But if his fears were
verified, if he was bereft of friends and property, even as a lonely
beggar he might continue to enjoy his freedom. If, for the sake of those
to whom he owed his best possession, he must surrender the rest, it was
his duty to bear fate patiently.

It was still light.

Even when he had approached very near the house he heard no sound save
the joyous barking of his wolf-hound, Argus, which leaped upon him.

He now laid his hand upon the lock of the door--but it was flung open
from the inside.

Dion had seen him coming and, enraptured by the new happiness with which
this day had blessed him, he flung himself impetuously on the breast of
his faithful friend, exclaiming: "A boy, a splendid boy! We will call
him Pyrrhus."

Bright tea