Silently Rhodopis allowed herself to be undressed, and then, as silently, lifted the curtain which separated a second sleeping apartment from her own.  In the middle of this second room stood a bedstead of maplewood, and there, on white sheets spread over a mattress of fine sheep’s wool, and protected from the cold by bright blue coverlets’s, lay a graceful, lovely girl asleep; this was Rhodopis’ granddaughter, Sappho.  The rounded form and delicate figure seemed to denote one already in opening maidenhood, but the peaceful, blissful smile could only belong to a harmless, happy child.

One hand lay under her head, hidden among the thick dark brown hair, the other clasped unconsciously a little amulet of green stone, which hung round her neck.  Over her closed eyes the long lashes trembled almost imperceptibly, and a delicate pink flush came and went on the cheek of the slumberer.  The finely-cut nostrils rose and fell with her regular breathing, and she lay there, a picture of innocence, of peace, smiling in dreams, and of the slumber that the gods bestow on early youth, when care has not yet come.

Softly and carefully, crossing the thick carpets on tiptoe, the grey-haired woman approached, looked with unutterable tenderness into the smiling, childish face, and, kneeling down silently by the side of the bed, buried her face in its soft coverings, so that the girl’s hand just came in contact with her hair.  Then she wept, and without intermission; as though she hoped with this flood of tears to wash away not only her recent humiliation, but with it all other sorrow from her mind.

At length she rose, breathed a light kiss on the sleeping girl’s forehead, raised her hands in prayer towards heaven, and returned to her own room, gently and carefully as she had come.

At her own bedside she found the old slave-woman, still waiting for her.

“What do you want so late, Melitta?” said Rhodopis, kindly, under her breath.  “Go to bed; at your age it is not good to remain up late, and you know that I do not require you any longer.  Good night! and do not come to-morrow until I send for you.  I shall not be able to sleep much to-night, and shall be thankful if the morning brings me a short repose.”

The woman hesitated; it seemed that she had some thing on her mind which she feared to utter.

“There is something you want to ask me?” said Rhodopis.

Still the old slave hesitated.

“Speak!” said Rhodopis, “speak at once, and quickly.”

“I saw you weeping,” said the slave-woman, “you seem ill or sad; let me watch this night by your bedside.  Will you not tell me what ails you?  You have often found that to tell a sorrow lightens the heart and lessens the pain.  Then tell me your grief to-day too; it will do you good, it will bring back peace to your mind.”

“No,” answered the other, “I cannot utter it.”  And then she continued, smiling bitterly:  “I have once more experienced that no one, not even a god, has power to cancel the past of any human being, and that, in this world, misfortune and disgrace are one and the same.  Good night, leave me; Melitta!”