At first he had devoted himself eagerly to his father’s old friends, and especially to Thyone, and had not found it quite easy to remain firm when, in her frank, kindly, cordial manner, she tried to persuade him to accompany her and the others to Pelusium.  Yet he had succeeded in refusing the worthy couple’s invitation.  But when he saw Philotas, whose resemblance to the King, his cousin, had just been mentioned by one of the officers, become more and more eager in his attentions to Daphne, and heard him also invited by Philippus to share the nocturnal voyage, he felt disturbed, and could not conceal from himself that the uneasiness which constantly obtained a greater mastery over him arose from the fear of losing his friend to the young aristocrat.

This was jealousy, and where it flamed so hotly love could scarcely be absent.  Yet, had the shaft of Eros really struck him, how was it possible that the longing to win Ledscha back stirred so strongly within him that he finally reached a resolution concerning her?

As soon as the guests left Tennis he would approach the Biamite again.  He had already whispered this intention to Myrtilus, when he heard Daphne’s companion say to Thyone, “Philotas will accompany us, and on this voyage they will plight their troth if Aphrodite’s powerful son accepts my sacrifice.”

He involuntarily looked at the pair who were intended for each other, and saw Daphne lower her eyes, blushing, at a whisper from the young Macedonian.

His blood also crimsoned his cheeks, and when, soon after, he asked his friend whether she cared for his companionship, and Daphne assented in the most eager way, he said that he would share the voyage to Pelusium.  Daphne’s eyes had never yet beamed upon him so gladly and graciously.  Althea was right.  She must love him, and it seemed as if this conviction awoke a new star of happiness in his troubled soul.

If Philotas imagined that he could pluck the daughter of Archias like a ripe fruit from a tree, he would find himself mistaken.

Hermon did not yet exactly understand himself, only he felt certain that it would be impossible to surrender Daphne to another, and that for her sake he would give up twenty Ledschas, though he cherished infinitely great expectations from the Biamite for his art, which hitherto had been more to him than all else.

Everything that he still had to do in Tennis he could intrust to his conscientious Bias, to Myrtilus, and his slaves.

If he returned to the city of weavers, he would earnestly endeavour to palliate the offence which he had inflicted on Ledscha, and, if possible, obtain her forgiveness.  Only one thing detained him—­anxiety about his friend, who positively refused to share the night voyage.

He had promised his uncle Archias to care for him like a brother, and his own kind heart bade him stay with Myrtilus, and not leave him to the nursing of his very skilful but utterly unreliable body-servant, after the last night had proved to what severe attacks of his disease he was still liable.