She, whose nature was so hopeful that, when the glow of the sunset faded, she already anticipated with delight the rosy dawn of the next day, now beheld in Cleopatra’s hand the reed which was to sign the death-sentence of Dion and herself.  Her mental vision conjured up her relatives wounded by the falling house or bleeding under the stones hurled by the raging populace.  She heard Alexas command the executioner to subject her to the rack, and fancied that Anukis had not returned because she had failed to find Dion.  The Queen’s soldiers had probably carried him to prison, loaded with chains, if Philostratus had not already instigated the mob to drag him through the streets.

With feverish impetuosity, which alarmed Charmian the more because it was so unlike her old friend’s daughter, Barine described all the spectres with which her imagination—­agitated by terror, longing, love, and loathing—­terrified her; but the former exerted all the power of eloquence she possessed, by turns reproving her and loading her with caresses, in order to soothe her and rouse her from her despair.  But nothing availed.  At last she succeeded in persuading the unhappy woman to go with her to the window, which afforded a most beautiful view.  Westward, beyond the Heptastadium, the sun was sinking below the forests of masts in the harbour of the Eunostus; and Charmian, who had learned from her intercourse with the royal children how to soothe a troubled young heart, to divert Barine’s thoughts, directed her attention to the crimson glow in the western sky, and told her how her father, the artist, had showed her the superb brilliancy which colours gained at this hour of the day, even when the west was less radiant than now.  But Barine, who usually could never gaze her fill at such a spectacle, did not thank her, for this sunset reminded her of another which she had lately watched at Dion’s side, and she again broke into convulsive sobs.

Charmian, not knowing what to do, passed her arm around her.  Just at that moment the door was hurriedly thrown open, and Anukis, the Nubian, entered.

Her mistress knew that something unusual must have happened to detain her so long from her post at Barine’s side, and her appearance showed that she had been attending to important matters which had severely taxed her strength.  Her shining dark skin looked ashen grey, her high forehead, surrounded by tangled woolly locks, was dripping with perspiration, and her thick lips were pale.  Although she must have undergone great fatigue, she did not seem in need of rest; for, after greeting the ladies, apologizing for her long absence, and telling Barine that this time Dion had seemed to her half on the way to recovery, a rapid side glance at her mistress conveyed an entreaty that she would follow her into the next room.

But the language of the Nubian’s eyes had not escaped the suspicious watchfulness of the anxious Barine and, overwhelmed with fresh terror, she begged that she might hear all.