The prisoner listened in surprise and anxiety.

His uncle driven from his secure possessions to distant lands!  Daphne taken from him, he knew not whither nor for how long a time, after he had just been assured of her great love!  He himself on the way to expose himself to the malice and mockery of the whole city!

His heart contracted painfully, and his solicitude about his uncle’s fate increased when Philippus informed him that the conspirators had been arrested at the banquet and, headed by Amyntas, the Rhodian, Chrysippus, and Proclus, had perished by the executioner’s sword at sunrise.

The Queen, Althea, and the other ladies were already on the way to Coptos, in Upper Egypt, whither the King had exiled them.

Ptolemy had intrusted the execution of this severe punishment to Alexander’s former comrade as the most trustworthy and discreet of his subjects, but rejected, with angry curtness, Philippus’s attempt to uphold the innocence of his friend Archias.

The old man’s conversation with Hermon was interrupted by the functionaries who subjected him and Crates to the examination.  It lasted a long time, and referred to every incident in the artist’s life since his return to Alexandria.  The result was favourable, and the prisoner was dismissed from confinement with the learned companion of his fate.

When, accompanied by Philippus, Hermon reached his house, it was so late that the artists’ festival in honour of the sculptor Euphranor, who entered his seventieth year of life that day, must have already commenced.

On the way the blind man told the general what a severe trial awaited him, and the latter approved his course and, on bidding him farewell, with sincere emotion urged Hermon to take courage.

After hastily strengthening himself with a few mouthfuls of food and a draught of wine, his slave Patran, who understood writing, wished to put on the full laurel wreath; but Hermon was seized with a painful sense of dissatisfaction, and angrily waved it back.

Without a single green leaf on his head, he walked, leaning on the Egyptian’s arm, into the palaestra, which was diagonally opposite to his house.

Doubtless he longed to hasten at once to Daphne, but he felt that he could not take leave of her until he had first cast off, as his heart and mind dictated, the terrible burden which oppressed his soul.  Besides, he knew that the object of his love would not part from him without granting him one last word.

On the way his heart throbbed almost to bursting.

Even Daphne’s image, and what threatened her father, and her with him, receded far into the background.  He could think only of his design, and how he was to execute it.

Yet ought he not to have the laurel wreath put on, in order, after removing it, to bestow it on the genius of Myrtilus?

Yet no!

Did he still possess the right to award this noble branch to any one?  He was appearing before his companions only to give truth its just due.  It was repulsive to endow this explanation of an unfortunate error with a captivating aspect by any theatrical adornment.  To be honest, even for the porter, was a simple requirement of duty, and no praiseworthy merit.