“Don’t tear open old wounds,” was the retort.  “I know nothing.  I think—­but it matters little what I think.  There was that sly-eyed, smooth-tongued Greek, like that Phaon who met his deserts, who was no stranger to Domitius’s blackmailings.  I feel that he did it.  Never mind his name.  If ever I get the snake into my power—­” and Demetrius’s fingers tightened around the thick, hard cable he was clutching, and crushed the solid hemp into soft, loose strands; then he broke out again, “Never mention this another time, Agias, or I shall go mad, and plunge down, down into the waves, to go to sleep and forget it all!”

Agias was faithful to the injunction; but he observed that Demetrius showed Artemisia the same attention as Cornelia, albeit mingled with a little gracious and unoffending familiarity.

II

After a voyage in which one pleasant day succeeded another, Cornelia awoke one morning to hear the creak of blocks and tackle as the sailors were lowering sail.  The full banks of oars were plashing in the waves, and on deck many feet were rushing to and fro, while officers shouted their orders.  Coming out of her cabin, the young lady saw that the end of her seafaring was close at hand.  Even to one fresh from the azure atmosphere of the Campanian Bay, the sky was marvellously clear.  The water was of a soft green tint, that shaded off here and there into dark cerulean.  The wind was blowing in cool puffs out of the north.  A long, slow swell made the stately triremes rock gracefully.  Before them, in clear view, rose the tall tower of the Pharos,—­the lighthouse of Alexandria,—­and beyond it, on the low-lying mainland, rose in splendid relief against the cloudless sky the glittering piles and fanes of the city of the Ptolemies.  It was a magnificent picture,—­a “picture” because the colours everywhere were as bright as though laid on freshly by a painter’s brush.  The stonework of the buildings, painted to gaudy hues, brought out all the details of column, cornice, and pediment.  Here Demetrius pointed out the Royal Palace, here the Theatre; here, farther inland, the Museum, where was the great University; in the distance the whole looked like a painting in miniature.  Only there was more movement in this picture:  a splendid yacht, with the gold and ivory glittering on its prow and poop, was shooting out from the royal dockyards in front of the palace; a ponderous corn-ship was spreading her dirty sails to try to beat out against the adverse breeze, and venture on a voyage to Rome, at a season when the Italian traffic was usually suspended.  The harbour and quays were one forest of masts.  Boats and small craft were gliding everywhere.  Behind the pirate’s triremes several large merchantmen were bearing into the harbour under a full press of sail.

“And this, your ladyship,” said Demetrius, smiling, “is Egypt.  Does the first sight please you?”