Agias was there; and Cleomenes and his daughters; and Demetrius, with Artemisia, the most beautiful of girls,—­as Cornelia was the fairest of women,—­clinging fondly to her father’s side.  So there was joy that day and night at the Alexandrian palace.  And on the next morning the fleet trireme was ready which Demetrius had provided to bear Drusus and Cornelia and Fabia back to Italy.  Many were the partings at the royal quay, and Agias wept when he said farewell to his late patron and patroness; but he had some comfort, for his cousin (who had arranged with Cleomenes that, since his freebooting days were happily over, the two should join in a partnership for the India trade) had made him a promise to be fulfilled in due course of time—­for Artemisia was still very young.

“You are no Ichomachus, Xenophon’s perfect wife-educator,” the ex-pirate had said to his importunate cousin; “wait a few years.”

And Agias was fain to be content, with this hope before him.

There were other partings than his; but at last the adieus were over, and all save Caesar went back upon the quay.  The Imperator alone tarried on the poop of the vessel for an instant.  His features were half wistful as he held Drusus by the hand, but his eyes were kindly as ever to the young man.

“Ah, amice!” he said, “we who play at philosophy may not know all the time that there are gods, but at all times we know that there is the most godlike of divine attributes—­love undefiled.  Therefore let us hope, for we see little, and the cosmos is past finding out.”

He sprang back on to the quay.  The musicians on the bow struck up with pipe and lyre; the friends on the pier flung aboard the last garlands of rose and lily and scented thyme; the rowers bent to their task; the one hundred and seventy blades—­pumiced white—­smote the yellow waves of the harbour, and the ship sped away.  Cornelia, Fabia, and Drusus stood on the poop gazing toward the receding quay.  Long after they had ceased to recognize forms and faces they stared backward, until the pier itself was a speck, and the great buildings of the city grew dim.  Then they passed the Pharos, and the land dwindled more and more into a narrow, dark ribbon betwixt blue water and bluer sky.  The long swells of the open sea caught the trireme, and she rode gallantly over them—­while the music still played, and her hardy crew, pirates no longer, but pardoned men,—­seamen, employees of the honest merchant Demetrius,—­sent the good ship bounding faster and faster, as they pressed their strength against the springing oars.  Higher and higher rose the column of foam around the cutwater; louder and louder sang the foam under the stern, as they swept it past.  The distant land faded to a thread, to a line, was gone; and to north and south and east and west were but the water and the cloudless ether.  Fabia, Cornelia, and Drusus said little for a long time.  Their eyes wandered, sometimes, over the track of