“Aye! why did he let it go away?” asked the other staring open-mouthed in the direction where the sound of wheels was still to be heard.  His companion mean while laid his hand to his ear, and listened.  Both were silent for a few minutes, then the thin one said: 

“The chariot has stopped at the first tavern.  So much the better.  The Roman has valuable cattle in his shafts, and at the inn down there, there is a shed for horses.  Here in this hole there is hardly a stall for an ass, and nothing but sour wine and mouldy beer.  I don’t like the rubbish, and save my coin for Alexandria and white Mariotic; that is strengthening and purifies the blood.  For the present I only wish we were as well off as those horses; they will have plenty of time to recover their breath.”

“Yes, plenty of time,” answered the other with a broad grin, and then he with his companion withdrew into the room to fill his cup.

Klea too could hear that the chariot which had brought her hither, had halted at the farther tavern, but it did not occur to her that the driver had gone in to treat himself to wine with half of Irene’s drachma.  The horses should make up for the lost time, and they could easily do it, for when did the king’s banquets ever end before midnight?

As soon as Plea saw that the assassins were filling their earthen cups, she slipped softly on tiptoe behind the tavern; the moon came out from behind the clouds for a few minutes, she sought and found the short way by the desert-path to the Apis-tombs, and hastened rapidly along it.  She looked straight before her, for whenever she glanced at the road-side, and her eye was caught by some dried up shrub of the desert, silvery in the pale moonlight, she fancied she saw behind it the face of a murderer.

The skeletons of fallen beasts standing up out of the dust, and the bleached jawbones of camels and asses, which shone much whiter than the desert-sand on which they lay, seemed to have come to life and motion, and made her think of the tiger-teeth of the bearded ruffian.

The clouds of dust driven in her face by the warm west wind, which had risen higher, increased her alarm, for they were mingled with the colder current of the night-breeze; and again and again she felt as if spirits were driving her onwards with their hot breath, and stroking her face with their cold fingers.  Every thing that her senses perceived was transformed by her heated imagination into a fearful something; but more fearful and more horrible than anything she heard, than any phantom that met her eye in the ghastly moonlight, were her own thoughts of what was to be done now, in the immediate future—­of the fearful fate that threatened the Roman and Irene; and she was incapable of separating one from the other in her mind, for one influence alone possessed her, heart and soul:  dread, dread; the same boundless, nameless, deadly dread—­alike of mortal peril and irremediable shame, and of the airiest phantoms and the merest nothings.