the child, she
is the wife for you. But this much to you both--Father and son--I
do advise you to live with the mother and daughter as true and
friendly house-mates. You will none of you repent doing so. This
is a dying man's word. I can write no more. You are the women's
guardian, Philip, a faithful one I know. A common aim makes men
grow alike. You and I, for many a year.--Take good care of them for
me; I entreat you--good care."

The last words were separated and written all astray; the old man could
hardly make them out. He now sat looking, as Phillipus had done before,
sorely puzzled and undecided over this strange document.

"Well?" asked the leech at last.

"Aye-well?" repeated the other with a shrug. Then both again were
silent; till Horapollo rose, and taking his staff, also paced the room
while he murmured, half to himself and half to his younger friend "They
are two quiet, reasonable women. There are not many of that sort, I
fancy. How the little one helped me up from the low seat in the garden!"
It was a reminiscence that made him chuckle to himself; he stopped
Philippus, who was pacing at his side, by lightly patting his arm,
exclaiming with unwonted vivacity: "A man should be ready to try
everything--the care of women even, before he steps into the grave. And
is it a fact that neither of them is a scold or a chatter-box?"

"It is indeed."

"And what 'if' or 'but' remains behind?" asked the old man. "Let us
be reckless for once, brother! If the whole business were not so
diabolically serious, it would be quite laughable. The young one for
me and the old one for you in our leisure hours, my son; better washed
linen; clothes without holes in them; no dust on our books; a pleasant
'Rejoice' every morning, or at meal-times;--only look at the fruit on
that dish! No better than the oats they strew before horses. At the old
man's everything was as nice as it used to be in my own home at
Philae: Supper a little work of art, a feast for the eye as well as the
appetite! Pulcheria seems to understand all that as well as my poor dead
sister did. And then, when I want to rise, such a kind, pretty little
hand to help one up! I have long hated this dwelling. Lime and dust
fall from the ceiling in my bedroom, and here there are wide gaps in the
flooring-I stumbled over one yesterday--and our niggardly landlords, the
officials, say that if we want anything repaired we may do it ourselves,
that th