‘So, then,’ thought he, ’the storm of fate has broken and blown over—­the evil which my lore predicted, threatening life itself, has chanced—­and yet I live!  It came as the stars foretold; and now the long, bright, and prosperous career which was to succeed that evil, if I survived it, smiles beyond:  I have passed—­I have subdued the latest danger of my destiny.  Now I have but to lay out the gardens of my future fate—­unterrified and secure.  First, then, of all my pleasures, even before that of love, shall come revenge!  This boy Greek—­who has crossed my passion—­thwarted my designs—­baffled me even when the blade was about to drink his accursed blood—­shall not a second time escape me!  But for the method of my vengeance?  Of that let me ponder well!  Oh!  Ate, if thou art indeed a goddess, fill me with thy direst Inspiration!’ The Egyptian sank into an intent reverie, which did not seem to present to him any clear or satisfactory suggestions.  He changed his position restlessly, as he revolved scheme after scheme, which no sooner occurred than it was dismissed:  several times he struck his breast and groaned aloud, with the desire of vengeance, and a sense of his impotence to accomplish it.  While thus absorbed, a boy slave timidly entered the chamber.

A female, evidently of rank from her dress, and that of the single slave who attended her, waited below and sought an audience with Arbaces.

‘A female!’ his heart beat quick.  ‘Is she young?’

’Her face is concealed by her veil; but her form is slight, yet round, as that of youth.’

‘Admit her,’ said the Egyptian:  for a moment his vain heart dreamed the stranger might be Ione.

The first glance of the visitor now entering the apartment sufficed to undeceive so erring a fancy.  True, she was about the same height as Ione, and perhaps the same age—­true, she was finely and richly formed—­but where was that undulating and ineffable grace which accompanied every motion of the peerless Neapolitan—­the chaste and decorous garb, so simple even in the care of its arrangement—­the dignified yet bashful step—­the majesty of womanhood and its modesty?

‘Pardon me that I rise with pain,’ said Arbaces, gazing on the stranger:  ‘I am still suffering from recent illness.’

‘Do not disturb thyself, O great Egyptian!’ returned Julia, seeking to disguise the fear she already experienced beneath the ready resort of flattery; ’and forgive an unfortunate female, who seeks consolation from thy wisdom.’

‘Draw near, fair stranger,’ said Arbaces; ’and speak without apprehension or reserve.’

Julia placed herself on a seat beside the Egyptian, and wonderingly gazed around an apartment whose elaborate and costly luxuries shamed even the ornate enrichment of her father’s mansion; fearfully, too, she regarded the hieroglyphical inscriptions on the walls—­the faces of the mysterious images, which at every corner gazed upon her—­the tripod at a little distance—­and, above all, the grave and remarkable countenance of Arbaces himself:  a long white robe like a veil half covered his raven locks, and flowed to his feet:  his face was made even more impressive by its present paleness; and his dark and penetrating eyes seemed to pierce the shelter of her veil, and explore the secrets of her vain and unfeminine soul.