The recluse was wont to recognize her step from afar, and to be looking out for her from his window when she went to visit him; but to-day he heard her not, for he was stepping again and again up and down the few paces which the small size of his tiny cell allowed him to traverse.  He could reflect best when he walked up and down, and he thought and thought again, for he had heard all that was known in the temple regarding Irene’s disappearance; and he would, he must rescue her—­but the more he tormented his brain the more clearly he saw that every attempt to snatch the kidnapped girl from the powerful robber must in fact be vain.

“And it must not, it shall not be!” he had cried, stamping his great foot, a few minutes before Klea reached his cell; but as soon as he was aware of her presence he made an effort to appear quite easy, and cried out with the vehemence which characterized him even in less momentous circumstances: 

“We must consider, we must reflect, we must puzzle our brains, for the gods have been napping this morning, and we must be doubly wide-awake.  Irene—­our little Irene—­and who would have thought it yesterday!  It is a good-for-nothing, unspeakably base knave’s trick—­and now, what can we do to snatch the prey from the gluttonous monster, the savage wild beast, before he can devour our child, our pet little one?

“Often and often I have been provoked at my own stupidity, but never, never have I felt so stupid, such a godforsaken blockhead as I do now.  When I try to consider I feel as if that heavy shutter had been nailed clown on my head.  Have you had any ideas?  I have not one which would not disgrace the veriest ass—­not a single one.”

“Then you know everything? “asked Klea, “even that it is probably our father’s enemy, Eulaeus, who has treacherously decoyed the poor child to go away with him?”

“Yes, Yes!” cried Serapion, “wherever there is some scoundrel’s trick to be played he must have a finger in the pie, as sure as there must be meal for bread to be made.  But it is a new thing to me that on this occasion he should be Euergetes’ tool.  Old Philammon told me all about it.  Just now the messenger came back from Memphis, and brought a paltry scrap of papyrus on which some wretched scribbler had written in the name of Philometer, that nothing was known of Irene at court, and complaining deeply that Asclepiodorus had not hesitated to play an underhand game with the king.  So they have no idea whatever of voluntarily releasing our child.”

“Then I shall proceed to do my duty,” said Klea resolutely.  “I shall go to Memphis, and fetch my sister.”

“The anchorite stared at the girl in horror, exclaiming:  “That is folly, madness, suicide!  Do you want to throw two victims into his jaws instead of one?”

“I can protect myself, and as regards Irene, I will claim the queen’s assistance.  She is a woman, and will never suffer—­”