Selene laughed drily, and her lips curled scornfully as she said: 

“That is the way! go on! two days before you are turned out of house and home you ride in a chariot and pair!”

“You always see the worst side,” said Arsinoe with annoyance.  “I tell you it will all turn out far better and nicer and more happily than we expect.  As soon as we are a little richer we will buy back the old man, and keep him and feed him till he dies.”

Selene shrugged her shoulders, and her sister jumped up from her seat with her eyes full of tears.  She had been so happy in telling how happy she was that she firmly believed that her story must bring brightness into the gloom of the sick girl’s soul, like sunshine after a dark night; and Selene had nothing to give her but scornful words and looks.  If a friend refuses to share in joys it is hardly less wounding than if he were to abandon us in trouble.

“How you always contrive to embitter my happiness!” cried Arsinoe.  “I know very well that nothing that I can do can ever be right in your eyes; still, we are sisters, and you need not set your teeth and grudge your words, and shrug your shoulders when I tell you of things which, even a stranger, if I were to confide them to her, would rejoice over with me.  You are so cold and heartless!  I dare say you will betray me to my father—­”

But Arsinoe did not finish her sentence, for Selene looked up at her with a mixture of suffering and alarm, and said: 

“I cannot be glad—­I am in too much pain.”  As she spoke the tears ran down her cheeks and as soon as Arsinoe saw them she felt a return of pity for the sick girl, bent over and kissed her cheeks once, twice, thrice; but Selene pushed her aside and murmured piteously: 

“Leave me—­pray leave me; go away, I can bear it no longer.”  She turned her face to the wall, sobbing aloud.  Arsinoe attempted once more to show her some marks of affection, but her sister pushed her away still more decidedly, crying out loudly, as if in desperation:  “I shall die if you do not leave me alone.”

And the happier girl, whose best offerings were thus disdained by her only female friend, went weeping away to await her father’s return outside the door of the widow’s house.

When Hannah went to lay fresh handkerchiefs on Selene’s wounds she saw that she had been crying, but she did not enquire into the reason of her tears.  Towards evening the widow explained to her patient that she must leave her alone for half an hour, for that she and Mary were going out to pray to their God with their brethren and sisters, and they would pray for her also.

“Leave me, only leave me,” said Selene, “as it is, so it is—­there are no gods.”

“Gods?” replied Hannah.  “No.  But there is one good and loving Father in Heaven, and you soon shall learn to know him.”

“I know him, well!” muttered the sick girl with keen irony.