gone, and to beg him to return without delay to take care of Dada.  But what if her husband and son could not come away?  The girl would be left quite alone, and then. . .  The picture rose before her anxious mind of Marcus appearing on the scene and tempting Dada on shore—­of her niece stealing away by herself even, if the young Christian failed to discover her present residence—­loitering alone along the Canopic way or the Bruclumn, where, at noon, all that was most disreputable in Alexandria was to be seen at this time of year—­she saw, shuddered, considered—­and suddenly thought of an expedient which seemed to promise an issue from the difficulty.  It was nothing new and a favorite trick among the Egyptians; she had seen is turned to account by a lame tailor at whose house her father had lodged, when he had to go out to his customers and leave his young negress wife alone at home.  Dada was lying barefoot on the deck:  Herse would hide her shoes.

She hastily acted on this idea, locking up not only Dada’s sandals, but also Agne’s and her own, in the trunk they had saved; a glance at the slave’s feet assured her that hers could be of no use.

“Not if fire were to break out,” thought she, “would my Dada be seen in the streets with those preposterous things on her pretty little feet.”

When this was done Herse breathed more freely, and as she took leave of her niece, feeling perhaps that she owed her some little reparation, she said in an unusually kind tone: 

“Good bye, child.  Try to amuse yourself while I am gone.  There is plenty to look at here, and the others will soon be back again.  If the city is fairly quiet this evening we will all go out together, to Canopus, to eat oysters.  Good bye till we meet again, my pet!” She kissed the child, who looked up at her in astonishment, for her adopted mother was not usually lavish of such endearments.

Before long Dada was alone, cooling herself with her new fan and eating sweetmeats; but she could not cease thinking of the shameful treachery planned by old Damia, and while she rejoiced to reflect that she had not fallen into the net, and had seen through the plot, her wrath against the wicked old woman and Gorgo—­whom she could not help including—­burnt within her.  Meanwhile she looked about her, expecting to see Marcus, or perhaps the young officer.  Finding it impossible to think any evil of the young Christian, and having already trusted him so far, her fancy dwelt on him with particular pleasure; but she was curious, too, about the prefect, the early love of the proud merchant’s daughter.

Time went on; the sun was high in the heavens, she was tired of staring, wondering and thinking, and, yawning wearily, she began to consider whether she would make herself comfortable for a nap, or go down stairs and fill up the time by dressing herself up in her new garments.  However, before she could do either, the slave returned from her errand to the house, and a few moments after she espied the young officer crossing the ship-yard towards the lake; she sat up, set the crescent straight that she wore in her hair, and waved her fan in a graceful greeting.