“If thou knowest this already, father,” said the astonished Euprepia, “thou wilt spare me the pain of entering further into Helladia’s affection for Basil.  Suffice that it was impassioned beyond description, and vied with whatever history or romance records.  In her male costume she had accompanied the conqueror of the Bulgarians in his campaigns, she had fought in his battles; a gigantic foe, in act to strike him from behind, had fallen by her arrow; she had warded the poison-cup from his lips, and the assassin’s dagger from his heart; she had rejected enormous wealth offered as a bribe for treachery, and lived only for the Emperor.  ’And now,’ she cried, ’his love for me is cold, and he deserts me for another.  Who she is I cannot find, else on her it were, not on him, that my vengeance should alight.  Oh, Euprepia, I would tear her eyes from her head, were they beautiful as thine!  But vengeance I must have.  Basil must die.  On the third day he expires by my hand, poisoned by the cup which I alone am trusted to offer him at the Imperial banquet where thou wilt be present.  Thou shalt see his agonies and my triumph, and rejoice that thy friend has known how to avenge herself.’

“Thou seest now, father, in how frightful a difficulty I am placed.  All my entreaties and remonstrances have been in vain:  at my threats Helladia merely laughs.  I love Basil with my whole heart.  Shall I look on and see him murdered?  Shall I, having first unwittingly done my friend the most grievous injury, proceed further to betray her, and doom her to a cruel death?  I might anticipate her fell purpose by slaying her, but for that I have neither strength nor courage.  Many a time have I felt on the point of revealing everything to her, and offering myself as her victim, but for this also I lack fortitude.  I might convey a warning to Basil, but Helladia’s vengeance is unsleeping, and nothing but her death or mine will screen him.  Oh, father, father! what am I to do?”

“Nothing romantic or sentimental, I trust, dear child,” replied Photinius.

“Torture me not, father.  I came to thee for counsel.”

“And counsel shalt thou have, but it must be the issue of mature deliberation.  Thou mayest observe,” continued he with the air of a good man contending with adversity, “how weak and miserable is man’s estate even in the day of good fortune, how hard it is for purblind mortals to discern the right path, especially when two alluring routes are simultaneously presented for their decision!  The most obvious and natural course, the one I should have adopted without hesitation half-an-hour ago, would be simply to let Helladia alone.  Should she succeed—­and Heaven forbid else!—­the knot is loosed in the simplest manner.  Basil dies—­”

“Father!”

“I am a favourite with his sister-in-law,” continued Photinius, entirely unconscious of his daughter’s horror and agitation, “who will govern in the name of her weak husband, and is moreover thy mistress.  She recalls me to Court, and all is peace and joy.  But then, Helladia may fail.  In that case, when she has been executed—­”