‘Nydia, my child!’ said Glaucus.

At the sound of his voice she paused at once—­listening, blushing, breathless; with her lips parted, her face upturned to catch the direction of the sound, she laid down the vase—­she hastened to him; and wonderful it was to see how unerringly she threaded her dark way through the flowers, and came by the shortest path to the side of her new lord.

‘Nydia,’ said Glaucus, tenderly stroking back her long and beautiful hair, ’it is now three days since thou hast been under the protection of my household gods.  Have they smiled on thee?  Art thou happy?’

‘Ah! so happy!’ sighed the slave.

‘And now,’ continued Glaucus, ’that thou hast recovered somewhat from the hateful recollections of thy former state,—­and now that they have fitted thee (touching her broidered tunic) with garments more meet for thy delicate shape—­and now, sweet child, that thou hast accustomed thyself to a happiness, which may the gods grant thee ever!  I am about to pray at thy hands a boon.’

‘Oh! what can I do for thee?’ said Nydia, clasping her hands.

‘Listen,’ said Glaucus, ’and young as thou art, thou shalt be my confidant.  Hast thou ever heard the name of Ione?’

The blind girl gasped for breath, and turning pale as one of the statues which shone upon them from the peristyle, she answered with an effort, and after a moment’s pause: 

‘Yes!  I have heard that she is of Neapolis, and beautiful.’

’Beautiful! her beauty is a thing to dazzle the day!  Neapolis! nay, she is Greek by origin; Greece only could furnish forth such shapes.  Nydia, I love her!’

‘I thought so,’ replied Nydia, calmly.

’I love, and thou shalt tell her so.  I am about to send thee to her.  Happy Nydia, thou wilt be in her chamber—­thou wilt drink the music of her voice—­thou wilt bask in the sunny air of her presence!’

‘What! what! wilt thou send me from thee?’

‘Thou wilt go to Ione,’ answered Glaucus, in a tone that said, ’What more canst thou desire?’

Nydia burst into tears.

Glaucus, raising himself, drew her towards him with the soothing caresses of a brother.

’My child, my Nydia, thou weepest in ignorance of the happiness I bestow on thee.  She is gentle, and kind, and soft as the breeze of spring.  She will be a sister to thy youth—­she will appreciate thy winning talents—­she will love thy simple graces as none other could, for they are like her own.  Weepest thou still, fond fool?  I will not force thee, sweet.  Wilt thou not do for me this kindness?’

‘Well, if I can serve thee, command.  See, I weep no longer—­I am calm.’

‘That is my own Nydia,’ continued Glaucus, kissing her hand.  ’Go, then, to her:  if thou art disappointed in her kindness—­if I have deceived thee, return when thou wilt.  I do not give thee to another; I but lend.  My home ever be thy refuge, sweet one.  Ah! would it could shelter all the friendless and distressed!  But if my heart whispers truly, I shall claim thee again soon, my child.  My home and Ione’s will become the same, and thou shalt dwell with both.’