Meanwhile, Arbaces had not of late much frequented the house of Ione; and when he had visited her he had not encountered Glaucus, nor knew he, as yet, of that love which had so suddenly sprung up between himself and his designs.  In his interest for the brother of Ione, he had been forced, too, a little while, to suspend his interest in Ione herself.  His pride and his selfishness were aroused and alarmed at the sudden change which had come over the spirit of the youth.  He trembled lest he himself should lose a docile pupil, and Isis an enthusiastic servant.  Apaecides had ceased to seek or to consult him.  He was rarely to be found; he turned sullenly from the Egyptian—­nay, he fled when he perceived him in the distance.  Arbaces was one of those haughty and powerful spirits accustomed to master others; he chafed at the notion that one once his own should ever elude his grasp.  He swore inly that Apaecides should not escape him.

It was with this resolution that he passed through a thick grove in the city, which lay between his house and that of Ione, in his way to the latter; and there, leaning against a tree, and gazing on the ground, he came unawares on the young priest of Isis.

‘Apaecides!’ said he—­and he laid his hand affectionately on the young man’s shoulder.

The priest started; and his first instinct seemed to be that of flight.  ‘My son,’ said the Egyptian, ’what has chanced that you desire to shun me?’

Apaecides remained silent and sullen, looking down on the earth, as his lips quivered, and his breast heaved with emotion.

‘Speak to me, my friend,’ continued the Egyptian.  ’Speak.  Something burdens thy spirit.  What hast thou to reveal?’

‘To thee—­nothing.’

‘And why is it to me thou art thus unconfidential?’

‘Because thou hast been my enemy.’

‘Let us confer,’ said Arbaces, in a low voice; and drawing the reluctant arm of the priest in his own, he led him to one of the seats which were scattered within the grove.  They sat down—­and in those gloomy forms there was something congenial to the shade and solitude of the place.

Apaecides was in the spring of his years, yet he seemed to have exhausted even more of life than the Egyptian; his delicate and regular features were worn and colorless; his eyes were hollow, and shone with a brilliant and feverish glare:  his frame bowed prematurely, and in his hands, which were small to effeminacy, the blue and swollen veins indicated the lassitude and weakness of the relaxed fibres.  You saw in his face a strong resemblance to Ione, but the expression was altogether different from that majestic and spiritual calm which breathed so divine and classical a repose over his sister’s beauty.  In her, enthusiasm was visible, but it seemed always suppressed and restrained; this made the charm and sentiment of her countenance; you longed to awaken a spirit which reposed, but evidently