’Blind flower-girl, whither goest thou?  There is no pannier under thine arm; hast thou sold all thy flowers?’

The person thus accosting Nydia was a lady of a handsome but a bold and unmaidenly countenance:  it was Julia, the daughter of Diomed.  Her veil was half raised as she spoke; she was accompanied by Diomed himself, and by a slave carrying a lantern before them—­the merchant and his daughter were returning home from a supper at one of their neighbors’.

‘Dost thou not remember my voice?’ continued Julia.  ’I am the daughter of Diomed the wealthy.’

’Ah! forgive me; yes, I recall the tones of your voice.  No, noble Julia, I have no flowers to sell.’

’I heard that thou wert purchased by the beautiful Greek Glaucus; is that true, pretty slave?’ asked Julia.

‘I serve the Neapolitan, Ione,’ replied Nydia, evasively.

‘Ah! and it is true, then...’

‘Come, come!’ interrupted Diomed, with his cloak up to his mouth, ’the night grows cold; I cannot stay here while you prate to that blind girl:  come, let her follow you home, if you wish to speak to her.’

‘Do, child,’ said Julia, with the air of one not accustomed to be refused; ‘I have much to ask of thee:  come.’

‘I cannot this night, it grows late,’ answered Nydia.  ’I must be at home; I am not free, noble Julia.’

’What, the meek Ione will chide thee?—­Ay, I doubt not she is a second Thalestris.  But come, then, to-morrow:  do—­remember I have been thy friend of old.’

‘I will obey thy wishes,’ answered Nydia; and Diomed again impatiently summoned his daughter:  she was obliged to proceed, with the main question she had desired to put to Nydia unasked.

Meanwhile we return to Ione.  The interval of time that had elapsed that day between the first and second visit of Glaucus had not been too gaily spent:  she had received a visit from her brother.  Since the night he had assisted in saving her from the Egyptian, she had not before seen him.

Occupied with his own thoughts—­thoughts of so serious and intense a nature—­the young priest had thought little of his sister; in truth, men, perhaps of that fervent order of mind which is ever aspiring above earth, are but little prone to the earthlier affections; and it had been long since Apaecides had sought those soft and friendly interchanges of thought, those sweet confidences, which in his earlier youth had bound him to Ione, and which are so natural to that endearing connection which existed between them.

Ione, however, had not ceased to regret his estrangement:  she attributed it, at present, to the engrossing duties of his severe fraternity.  And often, amidst all her bright hopes, and her new attachment to her betrothed—­often, when she thought of her brother’s brow prematurely furrowed, his unsmiling lip, and bended frame, she sighed to think that the service of the gods could throw so deep a shadow over that earth which the gods created.