“We shall get on without them somehow,” he said. “‘Nil desperandum’ says Horace the Roman.  And after all they are not lizards that can hide in the cracks of the walls; I know every corner of Alexandria and I will go and hunt them up at once.”

“And I will help you, my friend,” said Demetrius, “We will go to the Hippodrome—­the gentry you will meet with there are capital blood-hounds after such game as the daughter of your ‘own sister,’ my good woman.  As to the black-haired Christian girl—­I have seen her many a time on board ship. . .”

“Oh! she will take refuge with some fellow-Christians,” remarked Porphyrius.  “Olympius told me all about her.  I know plenty of the same sort in the Church.  They fling away life and happiness as if they were apple-peelings to snatch at something which they believe to constitute salvation.  It is folly, madness! pure unmitigated madness!  To have sung in the temple of the she-devil Isis with Gorgo and the other worshippers would have cost her her seat in Paradise.  That, as I believe, is the cause of her flight.”

“That and nothing else!” cried Karnis.  “How vexed the noble Olympius will be.  Indeed, Apollo be my witness!  I have not been so disturbed about anything for many a day.  Do you happen to recollect,” he went on, turning to Demetrius, “our conversation on board ship about a dirge for Pytho?  Well, we had transposed the lament of Isis into the Lydian mode, and when this young lady’s wonderful voice gave it out, in harmony with Agne’s and with Orpheus’ flute, it was quite exquisite!  My old heart floated on wings as I listened!  And only the day after to-morrow the whole crowd of worshippers in the temple of Isis were to enjoy that treat!—­It would have roused them to unheard-of enthusiasm.  Yesterday the girl was in it, heart and soul; nay, only this morning she and the noble Gorgo sang it through from beginning to end.  One more rehearsal to-morrow, and then the two voices would have given such a performance as perhaps was never before heard within the temple walls.”

Constantine had listened to this rhapsody with growing agitation; he was standing close to Gorgo, and while the rest of the party held anxious consultation as to what could be done to follow up and capture the fugitives, he asked Gorgo in a low voice, but with gloomy looks: 

“You intended to sing in the temple of Isis?  Before the crowd, and with a girl of this stamp?”

“Yes,” she said firmly.

“And you knew yesterday that I had come home?” She nodded.

“And yet, this morning even, while you were actually expecting me, you could practise the hymn with such a creature?”

“Agne is not such another as the girl who played tricks with your helmet,” replied Gorgo, and the black arches of her eyebrows knit into something very like a scowl.  “I told you just now that I was not yours today, nor to-morrow.  We still serve different gods.”