He listened angrily as the old porter sternly accosted the late guest; but, directly after, the gray-haired native of the region near the First Cataract burst into the strange Nubian oaths which he lavished liberally whenever anything stirred his aged soul.

The dog, which Hermon had owned only a few months, continued to bark; but above his hostile baying the blind man thought he recognised a name at whose sound the blood surged hotly into his cheeks.  Yet he could scarcely have heard aright!

Still he sprang from the couch, groped his way to the door, opened it, and entered the impluvium that adjoined his bedroom.  The cool night air blew upon him from the open ceiling.  A strong draught showed that the door leading from the atrium was being opened, and now a shout, half choked by weeping, greeted him:  “Hermon!  My clear, my poor beloved master!”

“Bias, faithful Bias!” fell from the blind man’s lips, and when he felt the returned slave sink down before him, cover his hand with kisses and wet it with tears, he raised him in his strong arms, clasped him in a warm embrace, kissed his checks, and gasped, “And Myrtilus, my Myrtilus, is he alive?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” sobbed Bias.  “But you, my lord-blind, blind!  Can it be true?”

When Hermon released him to inquire again about his friend, Bias stammered:  “He isn’t faring so badly; but you, you, bereft of light and also of the joy of seeing your faithful Bias again!  And the immortals prolong one’s years to experience such evils!  Two griefs always belong to one joy, like two horses to a chariot.”

“My wise Bias!  Just as you were of old!” cried Hermon in joyful excitement.

Then he quieted the hound and ordered one of the attendants, who came hurrying in, to bring out whatever dainty viands the house contained and a jar of the best Byblus wine from the cellar.

Meanwhile he did not cease his inquiries about his friend’s health, and ordered a goblet to be brought him also, that he might pledge the slave and give brief answers to his sympathizing questions about the cause of the blindness, the noble Archias, the gracious young mistress Daphne, the famous Philippus and his wife, the companion Chrysilla, and the steward Gras.  Amid all this he resolved to free the faithful fellow and, while Bias was eating, he could not refrain from telling him that he had found a mistress for him, that Daphne was the wife whom he had chosen, but the wedding was still a long way off.

He controlled his impatience to learn the particulars concerning his friend’s fate until Bias had partially satisfied his hunger.

A short time ago Hermon would have declared it impossible that he could ever become so happy during this period of conflict and separation from the object of his love.

The thought of his lost inheritance doubtless flitted through his mind, but it seemed merely like worthless dust, and the certainty that Myrtilus still walked among the living filled him with unclouded happiness.  Even though he could no longer see him, he might expect to hear his beloved voice again.  Oh, what delight that he was permitted to have his friend once more, as well as Daphne, that he could meet him so freely and joyously and keep the laurel, which had rested with such leaden weight upon his head, for Myrtilus, and for him alone!