“It has been warm,” said Glaucus.  “Wilt thou summon Davus?  The wine I have drunk heats me, and I long for some cooling drink.”

Here at once, suddenly and unexpectedly, the very opportunity that Nydia awaited presented itself.  She breathed quickly.  “I will prepare for you myself,” said she, “the summer draught that Ione loves—­of honey and weak wine cooled in snow.”

“Thanks,” said the unconscious Glaucus.  “If Ione loves it, enough; it would be grateful were it poison.”

Nydia frowned, and then smiled.  She withdrew for a few moments, and returned with the cup containing the beverage.  Glaucus took it from her hand.

What would not Nydia have given then to have seen the first dawn of the imagined love!  Far different, as she stood then and there, were the thoughts and emotions of the blind girl from those of the vain Pompeian under a similar suspense!

Glaucus had raised the cup to his lips.  He had already drained about a fourth of its contents, when, suddenly glancing upon the face of Nydia, he was so forcibly struck by its alteration, by its intense, and painful, and strange expression, that he paused abruptly, and still holding the cup near his lips, exclaimed.  “Why, Nydia—­Nydia, art thou ill or in pain?  What ails thee, my poor child?”

As he spoke, he put down the cup—­happily for him, unfinished—­and rose from his seat to approach her, when a sudden pang shot coldly to his heart, and was followed by a wild, confused, dizzy sensation at the brain.

The floor seemed to glide from under him, his feet seemed to move on air, a mighty and unearthly gladness rushed upon his spirit.  He felt too buoyant for the earth; he longed for wings—­nay, it seemed as if he possessed them.  He burst involuntarily into a loud and thrilling laugh.  He clapped his hands, he bounced aloft.  Suddenly this perpetual transport passed, though only partially, away.  He now felt his blood rushing loudly and rapidly through his veins.

Then a kind of darkness fell over his eyes.  Now a torrent of broken, incoherent, insane words gushed from his lips, and, to Nydia’s horror, he passed the portico with a bound, and rushed down the starlit streets, striking fear into the hearts of all who saw him.

IV.—­The Day of Ghastly Night

Anxious to learn if the drug had taken effect, Arbaces set out for Julia’s house on the morrow.  On his way he encountered Apaecides.  Hot words passed between them, and stung by the scorn of the youth, he stabbed him into the heart with his stylus.  At this moment Glaucus came along.  Quick as thought the Egyptian struck the already half-senseless Greek to the ground, and steeping his stylus in the blood of Apaecides, and recovering his own, called loudly for help.  The next moment he was accusing Glaucus of the crime.