Her wildest thoughts of vengeance were as inseparable from tender pity and the warmest longings of a heart overflowing with love, as the dark waters of a river are from the brighter flood of a stream with which it has recently mingled.  All the passionate impulses which had hitherto been slumbering in her soul were set free, and now raised their clamorous voices as she was whirled across the desert through the gloom of night.  The wishes roused in her breast by her hatred appealing to her on one side and her love singing in her ear, in tempting flute-tones, on the other, jostled and hustled one another, each displacing the other as they crowded her mind in wild confusion.  As she proceeded on her journey she felt that she could have thrown herself like a tigress on her victim, and yet—­like an outcast woman—­have flung herself at Publius’ knees in supplication for the love that was denied her.  She had lost all idea of time and distance, and started as from a wild and bewildering dream when the chariot suddenly halted, and the driver said in his rough tones: 

“Here we are, I must turn back again.”

She shuddered, drew the cloak more closely round her, sprang out on to the road, and stood there motionless till the charioteer said: 

“I have not spared my horses, my noble gentleman.  Won’t you give me something to get a drop of wine?” Klea’s whole possessions were two silver drachma, of which she herself owned one and the other belonged to Irene.  On the last anniversary but one of his mother’s death, the king had given at the temple a sum to be divided among all the attendants, male and female, who served Serapis, and a piece of silver had fallen to the share of herself and her sister.  Klea had them both about her in a little bag, which also contained a ring that her mother had given her at parting, and the amulet belonging to Serapion.  The girl took out the two silver coins and gave them to the driver, who, after testing the liberal gift with his fingers, cried out as he turned his horses: 

“A pleasant night to you, and may Aphrodite and all the Loves be favorable!”

“Irene’s drachma!” muttered Klea to herself, as the chariot rolled away.  The sweet form of her sister rose before her mind; she recalled the hour when the girl—­still but a child—­had entrusted it to her, because she lost everything unless Klea took charge of it for her.

“Who will watch her and care for her now?” she asked herself, and she stood thinking, trying to defend herself against the wild wishes which again began to stir in her, and to collect her scattered thoughts.  She had involuntarily avoided the beam of light which fell across the road from the tavern-window, and yet she could not help raising her eyes and looking along it, and she found herself looking through the darkness which enveloped her, straight into the faces of two men whose gaze was directed to the very spot where she was standing.  And