So far as the Christian girl was concerned Herse declared there would be no difficulty; but Dada, her own niece, had always clung to them faithfully, and though Alexandria was full of sorcerers and Magians they could hardly succeed in making away with a fullgrown, rational, and healthy girl.  In her inexperience she had, no doubt, gone at the bidding of some perfidious wretch, and the Egyptian witch, the brown slave had, of course, had a finger in the trick.  She would accuse no one, but she knew some people who would be only too glad if Dada and that baby-faced young Christian got into trouble and disgrace together.  She delivered herself of this long story with tears of rage and regret, angrily refusing to admit any qualifying parentheses from her husband, to whose natural delicacy her rough and vociferous complaints were offensive in the presence of the high-bred ladies of the house.  Old Damia, however, had listened attentively to her indignant torrent of words, and had only shrugged her shoulders with a scornful smile at the implied accusation of herself.

Porphyrius, to whom the whole business was simply revolting, questioned Herse closely and when the facts were clearly established, and it also was plainly proved that Agne had escaped from the garden, he desired the slave-woman to tell her story of all that had occurred during the absence of Karnis, promising her half a dozen stripes from the cane on the soles of her feet for every false word she might utter.  The threat was enough to raise a howl from the Egyptian; but this Porphyries soon put a stop to, and Sachepris, with perfect veracity, told her tale of all that had happened till Herse’s return to the vessel.  The beginning of the narrative was of no special interest, but when she was pressed to go faster to the point she went on to say: 

“And then—­then my lord Constantine came to us on the ship, and the pretty mistress laughed with him and asked him to take off his helmet, because the pretty mistress wanted to see the cut, the great sword-cut above his eyes, and my lord Constantine took it off.”

“It is a lie!” exclaimed Gorgo.

“No, no; it is true.  Sachepris does not want her feet flayed, mistress,” cried the slave.  “Ask my lord Constantine himself.”

“Yes, I went on board,” said Constantine.  “Just as I was crossing the ship-yard a young girl dropped her fan into the lake.  I fished it out at her request, and carried it back to her.”

“Yes, that was it,” cried Sachepris.  “And the pretty mistress laughed with my lord Constantine—­is it not true?—­and she took his helmet out of his hand and weighed it in hers . . .”

“And you could stop on your way here to trifle with that child?” cried Gorgo wrathfully.  “Pah! what men will do!”

These words portended rage and intense disgust to Constantine.  “Gorgo!” he cried with a reproachful accent, but she could not control her indignation and went on more vehemently than ever: