Marcus and Dada allowed themselves to be carried onward by the throng which was tending towards the city-walls and the Canopic gate.  Phabis, Mary’s old steward, whose duty it had been to help his young master to dress after the races were over, had snatched the agitator’s cap from the youth’s head and flung a cloak over his shoulders, hastily following him as he went off with the young girl by his side.  The old man quite understood what was in the wind for he it was who had conducted Dame Herse to his mistress’ presence.  He had thought her a shrewd and kind-hearted woman, and it now struck him that she must certainly have been in the right when she accused Marcus of designs on her pretty niece.  At the time he had refused to believe it, for he had never in his life detected his young master in any underhand or forbidden courses; but, after all, Marcus was his father’s son, and, in his younger days, the old man had often and often had to risk his skin in Apelles’ love-intrigues.  And now it was the Son’s turn—­and if he were to take his fancy for that pretty chit as seriously as he did most things, if he got the notion into his head of marrying the little singer—­what a storm there was brewing between him and his mother!

The old man did his best to keep up with Marcus who did not see or heed him, for his eyes and attention were centered on the fair companion who was clinging to his arm, while he tried to force a passage through the mob, towards the gate.  Miracle on miracle seemed to him to have been wrought in his behalf; for Heaven had not only sent him Dada, but she was wearing blue ribbands; and when he asked her why, she had replied “For your sake, and because I like your Faith.”

He was tired to death; but as soon as Dada had put her hand through his arm he lead felt refreshed as if by magic.  His swollen and blistered hands, to be sure, were painful and his shoulders ached and winced from stiffness; but as she pressed his arm to her side and looked up gladly in his face—­telling him how happy she was while he responded:  “And how I love you!”—­he felt himself in Heaven, and pain and discomfort were forgotten.  The crush did not allow them to say more than a few words; but the things their eyes and lips could smile were sweeter and dearer than anything they had ever known before.

They had got through the gate and were in the Canopic way when Dada suddenly perceived that his lips were white, and felt the arm tremble on which her hand was lying.  She asked him what ailed him; he made no reply, but put his hand to his head, so she led him aside into the public garden that lay to their right between the little Stadium and the Maeandrian circus.  In this pretty spot, fresh with verdure and spring flowers, she soon found a bench shaded by a semicircular screen of dark-tufted tamarisk, and there she made him lie down.  He yielded at once, and his pale face and fixed gaze showed her that he was in a fainting state.  Indeed, he must be quite worn out by the terrible struggle of the race, and after it was over he had not given himself time to take a cup of drink or a scrap of food for refreshment.  It was only too natural that his strength should fail him, so, without feeling at all alarmed but only very pitiful and anxious to help, she ran back to a fruit-stall which they had passed at the entrance to the garden from the street.