Of Thessalian extraction, and gentle nurture, Nydia had been stolen and sold into the slavery of an ex-gladiator named Burbo, a relative of the false priest Calenus.  To save her from the cruelty of Burbo, Glaucus had purchased her, and, in return, the blind girl had become devoted to him—­so devoted that her gentle heart was torn when he made it plain to her that his action was prompted by mere natural kindness of heart, and that it was his purpose to send her to Ione.

But she cast all feeling of jealousy aside when she heard of Ione’s visit to the Egyptian, and quickly apprised Glaucus and Apaecides of the fair Athenian’s peril.

On her arrival, Arbaces greeted Ione with deep respect.  But he found it harder than he thought to resist the charm of her presence in his house, and in a moment of forgetful passion he declared his love for her.  “Arbaces,” he declared, “shall have no ambition save the pride of obeying thee—­Ione.  Ione, do not reject my love!” And as he spoke he knelt before her.

Alone, and in the grip of this singular and powerful man, Ione was not yet terrified; the respect of his language, the softness of his voice, reassured her; and in her own purity she felt protection.  But she was confused, astonished.  It was some moments before she could recover the power of reply.

“Rise, Arbaces,” said she at length.  “Rise! and if thou art serious, if thy language be in earnest——­”

“If——­” said he tenderly.

“Well, then, listen.  You have been my guardian, my friend, my monitor.  For this new character I was not prepared.  Think not,” she added quickly, as she saw his dark eyes glitter with the fierceness of his passion, “think not that I scorn; that I am untouched; that I am not honoured by this homage; but, say, canst thou hear me calmly?”

“Ay, though the words were lightning and could blast me!”

“I love another!” said Ione blushingly, but in a firm voice.

“By the gods,” shouted Arbaces, rising to his fullest height, “dare not tell me that!  Dare not mock me!  It is impossible!  Whom hast thou seen?  Whom known?  Oh, Ione, it is thy woman’s invention, thy woman’s art that speaks; thou wouldst gain time.  I have surprised—­I have terrified thee.”

“Alas!” began Ione; and then, appalled before his sudden and unlooked for violence, she burst into tears.

Arbaces came nearer to her, his breath glowed fiercely on her cheek.  He wound his arms round her; she sprang from his embrace.  In the struggle a tablet fell from her bosom.  Arbaces perceived, and seized it; it was a letter she had received that morning from Glaucus.

Ione sank upon the couch, half-dead with terror.

Rapidly the eyes of Arbaces ran over the writing.  He read it to the end, and then, as the letter fell from his hand, he said, in a voice of deceitful calmness, “Is the writer of this the man thou lovest?”