“Your father was the most righteous of men,” replied Lysias, “and nevertheless he was carried off into torments like a criminal.  It is not only the unrighteous and the wicked that are persecuted.  Have you ever heard of King Euergetes, who, at his birth, was named the ‘well-doer,’ and who has earned that of the ‘evil doer’ by his crimes?  He has heard that you are fair, and he is about to demand of the high-priest that he should surrender you to him.  If Asclepiodorus agrees—­and what can he do against the might of a king—­you will be made the companion of flute-playing girls and painted women, who riot with drunken men at his wild carousals and orgies, and if your parents found you thus, better would it be for them—­”

“Is it true, all you are telling me?” asked Irene with flaming cheeks.

“Yes,” answered Lysias firmly.  “Listen Irene—­I have a father and a dear mother and a sister, who is like you, and I swear to you by their heads—­by those whose names never passed my lips in the presence of any other woman I ever sued to—­that I am speaking the simple truth; that I seek nothing but only to save you; that if you desire it, as soon as I have hidden you I will never see you again, terribly hard as that would be to me—­for I love you so dearly, so deeply—­poor sweet little Irene—­as you can never imagine.”

Lysias took the girl’s hand, but she withdrew it hastily, and raising her eyes, full of tears, to meet his she said clearly and firmly: 

“I believe you, for no man could speak like that and betray another.  But how do you know all this?  Where are you taking me?  Will Klea follow me?”

“At first you shall be concealed with the family of a worthy sculptor.  We will let Klea know this very day of all that has happened to you, and when we have obtained the release of your parents then—­but—­Help us, protecting Zeus!  Do you see the chariot yonder?  I believe those are the white horses of the Eunuch Eulaeus, and if he were to see us here, all would be lost!  Hold tight, we must go as fast as in a chariot race.  There, now the hill hides us, and down there, by the little temple of Isis, the wife of your future host is already waiting for you; she is no doubt sitting in the closed chariot near the palm-trees.

“Yes, certainly, certainly, Klea shall hear all, so that she may not be uneasy about you!  I must say farewell to you directly and then, afterwards, sweet Irene, will you sometimes think of the unhappy Lysias; or did Aurora, who greeted him this morning, so bright and full of happy promise, usher in a day not of joy but of sorrow and regret?” The Greek drew in rein as he spoke, bringing his horses to a sober pace, and looked tenderly in Irene’s eyes.  She returned his gaze with heart-felt emotion, but her gunny glance was dimmed with tears.

“Say something,” entreated the Greek.  “Will you not forget me?  And may I soon visit you in your new retreat?”

Irene would so gladly have said yes—­and yes again, a thousand times yes; and yet she, who was so easily carried away by every little emotion of her heart, in this supreme moment found strength enough to snatch her hand from that of the Greek, who had again taken it, and to answer firmly: