The astonished architect asked if Didymus did not know what was impending, and Helena hastily replied: 

“He is working in the summer-house by the sea.  Apollonius is a kind-hearted man, and will wait until I have prepared my grandfather.  I must go to him.  He has already sent Philotas—­his pupil, who finds and unrolls his books—­a dozen times to inquire the cause of the tumult outside; but I replied that the crowds were flocking to the harbour on account of the Queen.  There is often a mob shouting madly; but nothing disturbs my grandfather when he is absorbed in his work; and his pupil—­a young student from Amphissa—­loves him and does what I bid him.  My grandmother, too, knows nothing yet.  She is deaf, and the female slaves dare not tell her.  After her recent attack of giddiness, the doctor said that any sudden shock might injure her.  If only I can find the right words, that my grandfather may not be too sorely hurt!”

“Shall I accompany you?” asked Gorgias kindly.

“No,” she answered hurriedly.  “He needs time ere he will trust strangers.  Only, if Apollonius discloses the terrible truth, and his grief threatens to overpower him, comfort him, and show him that we still have friends who are ready to protect us from such disaster.”

She waved her hand in token of gratitude, and hurried through the little side gate into the garden.  Gorgias looked after her with sparkling eyes, and drew a long breath.  How good this girl must be, how wisely she cared for her relatives!  How energetically the young creature behaved!  He had seen his new acquaintance only in the dim light, but she must be beautiful.  Her eyes, lips, and hair certainly were.  How his heart throbbed as he asked himself the question whether this young girl, who was endowed with every gift which constituted the true worth of womanhood, was not preferable to her more attractive sister Barine!—­when the thought darted through his mind that he had cause to be grateful to the beard which covered his chin and cheeks, for he felt that he, a sedate, mature man, must have blushed.  And he knew why.  Only half an hour before he had felt and admitted to Dion that he considered Barine the most desirable of women, and now another’s image cast a deep shadow over hers and filled his heart with new, perhaps stronger emotions.

He had had similar experiences only too often, and his friends, Dion at their head, had perceived his weakness and spoiled many an hour for him by their biting jests.  The series of tall and short, fair and dark beauties who had fired his fancy was indeed of considerable length, and every one on whom he had bestowed his quickly kindled affections had seemed to him the one woman he must make his own, if he would be a happy man.  But ere he had reached the point of offering his hand, the question had arisen in his mind whether he might not love another still more ardently.  So he had begun to persuade himself that his heart yearned for no individual, but the