“Not now” interrupted Klea excitedly.  “Turn round—­there where you see the lamp-light.”  Publius did as he was desired, and a slight shudder shook even his bold heart, for the girl’s sayings and doings seemed to him not solemn merely, but mysterious like those of a prophetess.  A violent crash sounded through the silent and sacred place, and loud echoes were tossed from side to side, ringing ominously throughout the grotto.  Publius turned anxiously round, and his eye, seeking Klea, found her no more; then, hurrying to the door of the cave, he heard her lock it on the outside.

The water-bearer had escaped him, had flung the heavy door to, and imprisoned him; and this idea was to the Roman so degrading and unendurable that, lost to every feeling but rage, wounded pride, and the wild desire to be free, he kicked the door with all his might, and called out angrily to Klea: 

“Open this door—­I command you.  Let me free this moment or, by all the gods—­”

He did not finish his threat, for in the middle of the right-hand panel of the door a small wicket was opened through which the priests were wont to puff incense into the tomb of the sacred bulls—­and twice, thrice, finally, when he still would not be pacified, a fourth time, Klea called out to him: 

“Listen to me—­listen to me, Publius.”  Publius ceased storming, and she went on: 

“Do not threaten me, for you will certainly repent it when you have heard what I have to tell you.  Do not interrupt me; I may tell you at once this door is opened every day before sunrise, so your imprisonment will not last long; and you must submit to it, for I shut you in to save your life—­yes, your life which was in danger.  Do you think my anxiety was folly?  No, Publius, it is only too well founded, and if you, as a man, are strong and bold, so am I as a woman.  I never was afraid of an imaginary nothing.  Judge yourself whether I was not right to be afraid for you.

“King Euergetes and Eulaeus have bribed two hideous monsters to murder you.  When I went to seek out Irene I overheard all, and I have seen with my own eyes the two horrible wolves who are lurking to fall upon you, and heard with these ears their scheme for doing it.  I never wrote the note on the tile which was signed with my name; Eulaeus did it, and you took his bait and came out into the desert by night.  In a few minutes the ruffians will have stolen up to this place to seek their victim, but they will not find you, Publius, for I have saved you—­I, Klea, whom you first met with smiles—­whose sister you have stolen away—­the same Klea that you a minute since were ready to threaten.  Now, at once, I am going into the desert, dressed like a traveller in a coat and hat, so that in the doubtful light of the moon I may easily be taken for you—­going to give my weary heart as a prey to the assassins’ knife.”

“You are mad!” cried Publius, and he flung himself with his whole weight on the door, and kicked it with all his strength.  “What you purpose is pure madness open the door, I command you!  However strong the villains may be that Euergetes has bribed, I am man enough to defend myself.”