nto them again to-morrow.

What had happened here? Where were her friends gone? A great terror came
over her, all the misery of desolation fell upon her, and as she sank
upon the stone bench outside the gate-house to wait for the inhabitants
who must presently return, the tears again flowed from her eyes and fell
in heavy drops on her hands as they lay in her lap.

She was still sitting there, thinking with a throbbing heart of Pollux
and of the happy morning of this now dying day, when a troup of Moorish
slaves came towards the deserted house. The head mason who led them
desired her to rise from the bench, and in answer to her questions, told
her that the little building was to be pulled down, and that the couple
who had inhabited it were evicted from their post, turned out of doors
and had gone elsewhere with all their belongings. But where Doris and
her son had taken themselves no one knew. Arsinoe as she heard these
tidings felt like a sailor whose vessel has grounded on a rocky shore,
and who realizes with horror that every plank and beam be neath him
quivers and gapes. As usual, when she felt too weak to help herself
unaided, her first thought was of Selene, and she decided to hasten off
to her and to ask her what she could do, what was to become of her and
the children.

It was already growing dark. With a swift step, and drying her eyes from
time to time on her peplum as she went, she returned to her own room
to fetch a veil, without which she dared not venture so late into the
streets. On the steps--where the dog had thrown down Selene--she met
a man hurrying past her; in the dim light she fancied he bore some
resemblance to the slave that her father had bought the day before;
but she paid no particular heed, for her mind was full of so many other
things. In the kitchen sat the old negress in front of a lamp and
the children squatted round her; by the hearth sat the baker and the
butcher, to whom her father owed considerable sums and who had come to
claim their dues, for ill news has swifter wings than good tidings, and
they had already heard of the steward's death. Arsinoe took the lamp,
begged the men to wait, went into the sitting-room, passing, not without
a shudder, the body of the man who a few hours since had stroked her
cheeks and looked lovingly into her eyes.

How glad she felt to be able to pay her dead father's debts and save the
honor of his name! She confidently drew the key out of her pocket a