But why do you stand and look like that?  You look just like you did that time when I heard you sing.  By all the Muses! but you, too, like us, have some fire in your veins, you are not one of the lukewarm sort; you are an artist, and a better one than I; and if you ever should feel the right love, then—­then take care lest you break loose from propriety and custom—­or whatever name you give to the sacred powers that subdue passion—­even more wildly than I—­who am an honest girl, and mean to remain so, for all the fire and flame in my breast!”

Gorgo remembered the hour in which she had, in fact, proffered to the man of her choice as a free gift, the love which, by every canon of propriety, she ought only to have granted to his urgent wooing.  She blushed and her eyes fell before the humble little singer; but while she was considering what answer she could make men’s steps were heard approaching, and presently Eusebius and Marcus entered the room, followed by Gorgo’s lover.  Constantine was in deep dejection, for one of his brothers had lost his life in the burning of his father’s ship-yard, and as compared with this grief, the destruction of the timber stores which constituted the chief part of his wealth scarcely counted as a calamity.

Gorgo had met him with a doubtful and embarrassed air; but when she learnt of the blow that had fallen on him and his parents, she clung to him caressingly and tried to comfort him.  The others sympathized deeply with his sorrow; but soon it was Dada’s turn to weep, for Eusebius brought the news of her foster-parent’s death in the fight at the Serapeum, and of Orpheus being severely wounded.

The cheerful music-room was a scene of woe till Demetrius came to conduct his brother and Dada to the widow Mary who was expecting them.  He had arrived in a chariot, for he declared his legs would no longer carry him.  “Men,” said he, “are like horses.  A swift saddle-horse is soon tired when it is driven in harness and a heavy cart-horse when it is made to gallop.  His hoofs were spoilt for city pavements, and scheming, struggling and running about the streets were too much for his country brains and wore him out, as trotting under a saddle would weary a plough-horse.  He thanked the gods that this day was over.  He would not be rested enough till to-morrow to be really glad of all his success.”—­But in spite of this assertion he was radiant with overflowing satisfaction, and that in itself cheered the mourners whom he tried to encourage.  When he said they must be going, Gorgo kissed the little singer; indeed, as soon as she saw how deeply she was grieved, shedding bitter but silent tears, she had hastened to take her in her arms and comfort her like a sister.