“Still I entreat you to take me back to the Serapeum,” said Klea, laying her hand in that of Publius.

“Is the way to Memphis too long, are you utterly tired out?”

“I am much wearied by agitation and terror, by anxiety and happiness, still I could very well bear the ride; but I beg of you to take me back to the temple,”

“What—­although you feel strong enough to remain with me, and in spite of my desire to conduct you at once to Apollodorus and Irene?” asked Publius astonished, and he withdrew his hand.  “The mule is waiting out there.  Lean on my arm.  Come and do as I request you.”

“No, Publius, no.  You are my lord and master, and I will always obey you unresistingly.  In one thing only let me have my own way, now and in the future.  As to what becomes a woman I know better than you, it is a thing that none but a woman can decide.”

Publius made no reply to these words, but he kissed her, and threw his arm round her; and so, clasped in each other’s embrace, they reached the gate of the Serapeum, there to part for a few hours.

Klea was let into the temple, and as soon as she had learned that little Philo was much better, she threw herself on her humble bed.

How lonely her room seemed, how intolerably empty without Irene.  In obedience to a hasty impulse she quitted her own bed, lay herself down on her sister’s, as if that brought her nearer to the absent girl, and closed her eyes; but she was too much excited and too much exhausted to sleep soundly.  Swiftly-changing visions broke in again and again on her sincerely devotional thoughts and her restless half-sleep, painting to her fancy now wondrously bright images, and now most horrible ones—­now pictures of exquisite happiness, and again others of dismal melancholy.  And all the time she imagined she heard distant music and was being rocked up and down by unseen hands.

Still the image of the Roman overpowered all the rest.

At last a refreshing sleep sealed her eyes more closely, and in her dream she saw her lover’s house in Rolne, his stately father, his noble mother —­who seemed to her to bear a likeness to her own mother—­and the figures of a number of tall and dignified senators.  She felt herself much embarrassed among all these strangers, who looked enquiringly at her, and then kindly held out their hands to her.  Even the dignified matron came to meet her with effusion, and clasped her to her breast; but just as Publius had opened his to her and she flew to his heart, and she fancied she could feel his lips pressed to hers, the woman, who called her every morning, knocked at her door and awoke her.

This time she had been happy in her dream and would willingly have slept again; but she forced herself to rise from her bed, and before the sun was quite risen she was standing by the Well of the Sun and, not to neglect her duty, she filled both the jars for the altar of the god.