the artist might really have succeeded in doing so, but he
forbade himself the attempt.

He thought that the time for departure had now arrived, and an
irresistible longing urged him back to the world and Daphne.

But he could not resist the entreaties of the old sheik and his daughter
not to risk what he had gained, so he continued to use the shade of
leaves, and allowed himself to be persuaded to defer his departure until
the dimness which still prevented his seeing anything distinctly passed
away.

True, the beautiful peace which he had enjoyed of late was over and,
besides, anxiety for the dear ones in distant lands was constantly
increasing. He had had no news of them for a long time, and when he
imagined what fate might have overtaken Archias, and his daughter with
him, if he had been carried back to the enraged King in Alexandria, a
terrible dread took possession of him, which scattered even joy in
his wonderful recovery to the four winds, and finally led him to the
resolution to return to the world at any risk and devote himself to
those whose fate was nearer to his heart than his own weal and woe.

CHAPTER XIII.

Hermon, filled with longing, went down toward evening to the shore.

The sun was setting, and the riot of colours in the western horizon
seemed like a mockery of the torturing anxiety which had mastered his
soul.

He did not notice the boat that was approaching the land; many
travellers who intended to go through Arabia Petrea landed here, and
for several days--he knew why--there had been more stir in these quiet
waters.

Suddenly he was surprised by the ringing shout with which he had
formerly announced his approach to Myrtilus.

Unconsciously agitated by joy, as if the sunset glow before him had
suddenly been transformed into the dawn of a happy day, he answered by a
loud cry glad with hope. Although his dim eyes did not yet permit him to
distinguish who was standing erect in the boat, waving greetings to him,
he thought he knew whom this exquisite evening was bringing.

Soon his own name reached him. It was his "wise Bias" who shouted, and
soon, with a throbbing heart, he held out both hands to him.

The freedman had performed his commission in the best possible manner,
and was now no longer bound to silence by oath.

Ledscha had left him and Myrtilus to themselves and, as Bias thought
he had heard, had sailed with the Gaul Lutarius for Paraetonium, the
frontier city between the