led over the canopy to jingling. As at a signal the flutes grew
louder, mingling with them was the clearer note of lyres. Now the strains
swelled sweetly, now faded away into dreamy sighing, as if bidding the
listener to sink again into the arms of sleep. Another vain effort to rise
on his elbow. Again he was helpless. Giving way to the charm of the music,
he closed his eyes.

"Either I am awaking in Elysium, or the gods send to me pleasant dreams
before I die."

He was feebly wondering which was the alternative when a new sound roused
him, the sweep and rustle of the dresses of two women as they approached
the bed. He gazed forth listlessly, when lo! above his couch stood two
strangers,--strangers, but either as fair as Aphrodite arising from the
sea. Both were tall, and full of queenly grace, both were dressed in gauzy
white, but the hair of the one was of such gold that Glaucon hardly saw
the circlet which pressed over it. Her eyes were blue, the lustre of her
face was like a white rose. The other's hair shone like the wing of a
raven. A wreath of red poppies covered it, but over the softly tinted
forehead there peered forth a golden snake with emerald eyes--the Egyptian
uraeus, the crown of a princess from the Nile. Her eyes were as black as
the other's were blue, her lips as red as the dye of Tyre, her hands--But
before Glaucon looked and wondered more, the first, she of the golden
head, laid her hand upon his face,--a warm, comforting hand that seemed to
speed back strength and gladness with the touch. Then she spoke. Her Greek
was very broken, yet he understood her.

"Are you quite awakened, dear Glaucon?"

He looked up marvelling, not knowing how to answer; but the golden goddess
seemed to expect none from him.

"It is now a month since we brought you from Astypalaea. You have wandered
close to the Portals of the Dead. We feared you were beloved by Mazda too
well, that you would never wake that we might bless you. Night and day
have my husband and I prayed to Mithra the Merciful and Hauratat the
Health-Giver in your behalf; each sunrise, at our command, the Magians
have poured out for you the Haoma, the sacred juice dear to the Beautiful
Immortals, and Amenhat, wisest of the physicians of Memphis, has stood by
your bedside without rest. Now at last our prayers and his skill have
conquered; you awake to life and gladness."

Glaucon lay wondering, not knowing how to reply, and only understanding in
half, whe