A shiver passed through the slight frame of the blind girl, but she wept no more—­she was resigned.

’Go, then, my Nydia, to Ione’s house—­they shall show thee the way.  Take her the fairest flowers thou canst pluck; the vase which contains them I will give thee:  thou must excuse its unworthiness.  Thou shalt take, too, with thee the lute that I gave thee yesterday, and from which thou knowest so well to awaken the charming spirit.  Thou shalt give her, also, this letter, in which, after a hundred efforts, I have embodied something of my thoughts.  Let thy ear catch every accent, every modulation of her voice, and tell me, when we meet again, if its music should flatter me or discourage.  It is now, Nydia, some days since I have been admitted to Ione; there is something mysterious in this exclusion.  I am distracted with doubts and fears; learn—­for thou art quick, and thy care for me will sharpen tenfold thy acuteness—­learn the cause of this unkindness; speak of me as often as thou canst; let my name come ever to thy lips:  insinuate how I love rather than proclaim it; watch if she sighs whilst thou speakest, if she answer thee; or, if she reproves, in what accents she reproves.  Be my friend, plead for me:  and oh! how vastly wilt thou overpay the little I have done for thee!  Thou comprehendest, Nydia; thou art yet a child—­have I said more than thou canst understand?’

‘No.’

‘And thou wilt serve me?’

‘Yes.’

’Come to me when thou hast gathered the flowers, and I will give thee the vase I speak of; seek me in the chamber of Leda.  Pretty one, thou dost not grieve now?’

‘Glaucus, I am a slave; what business have I with grief or joy?’

’Sayest thou so?  No, Nydia, be free.  I give thee freedom; enjoy it as thou wilt, and pardon me that I reckoned on thy desire to serve me.’

’You are offended.  Oh!  I would not, for that which no freedom can give, offend you, Glaucus.  My guardian, my saviour, my protector, forgive the poor blind girl!  She does not grieve even in leaving thee, if she can contribute to thy happiness.’

‘May the gods bless this grateful heart!’ said Glaucus, greatly moved; and, unconscious of the fires he excited, he repeatedly kissed her forehead.

‘Thou forgivest me,’ said she, ’and thou wilt talk no more of freedom; my happiness is to be thy slave:  thou hast promised thou wilt not give me to another...’

‘I have promised.’

‘And now, then, I will gather the flowers.’

Silently, Nydia took from the hand of Glaucus the costly and jewelled vase, in which the flowers vied with each other in hue and fragrance; tearlessly she received his parting admonition.  She paused for a moment when his voice ceased—­she did not trust herself to reply—­she sought his hand—­she raised it to her lips, dropped her veil over her face, and passed at once from his presence.  She paused again as she reached the threshold; she stretched her hands towards it, and murmured: