There could be nothing good awaiting her; that was proved by the messengers whom Cleopatra had sent to summon her at this unprecedented hour.  They were her worst enemies:  Iras, who desired to wed her lover—­Dion had told her so after the assault—­and Alexas, whose suit she had rejected in a way which a man never forgives.

She had already learned Iras’s feelings.  The slender figure with the narrow head, long, delicate nose, small chin, and pointed fingers, seemed to her like a long, sharp thorn.  This strange comparison had entered her head as Iras stood rigidly erect, reading aloud in a shrill, high voice the Queen’s command.  Everything about this hard, cold face appeared as sharp as a sting, and ready to destroy her.

Her removal from her mother’s house to the royal palace had been swift and simple.

After the attack—­of which she saw little, because, overpowered by fear and horror, she closed her eyes—­she had driven home with her lover, where the leech had bandaged his injuries, and Berenike had quickly and carefully transformed her own sleeping chamber into a sick-room.

Barine, after changing her dress, did not leave Dion’s side.  She had attired herself carefully, for she knew his delight in outward adornment.  When she returned from her grandparents, before sunset, she was alone with him, and he, kissing her arm, had murmured that wherever the Greek tongue was spoken there was not one more beautiful.  The gem was worthy of its loveliness.  So she had opened her baggage to take out the circlet which Antony had given, and it again enclasped her arm when she entered the sick-room.

Because Dion had told her that he deemed her fairest in the simple white robe she had worn a few days before, when there were no guests save himself and Gorgias, and she had sung until after midnight his favourite songs as though all were intended for him alone, her choice had fallen upon this garment.  And she rejoiced that she had worn it—­the wounded man’s eyes rested upon her so joyously when she sat down opposite to him.

The physician had forbidden him to talk, and urged him to sleep if possible.  So Barine only held his hand in silence, whispering, whenever he opened his eyes, a tender word of love and encouragement.

She had remained with him for hours, leaving her place at his side merely to give him his medicine, or, with her mother’s aid, place poultices on his wounds.

When his manly face was distorted by suffering, she shared his pain; but during most of the time a calm, pleasant sense of happiness pervaded her mind.  She felt safe and sheltered in the possession of the man whom she loved, though fully aware of the perils which threatened him, and, perhaps, her also.  But the assurance of his love completely filled her heart and cast every care entirely into the shade.  Many men had seemed estimable and agreeable, a few even desirable husbands, but Dion was the first to awaken love in her ardent but by no means passionate soul.  She regarded the experiences of the past few days as a beautiful miracle.  How she had yearned and pined until the most fervent desire of her heart was fulfilled!  Now Dion had offered her his love, and nothing could rob her of it.