“I am not weak,” interrupted Ledscha proudly.  “I could have taught three times twelve of the scoundrels who was master.  Now they obey my sister, and yet I wish I had stayed in Tennis.  Our Taus,” she continued in a more gentle tone, “is still so young, and our mother died when she was a little child; but I, fool, who should have warned her, left her alone, and if she yielded to Hermon’s temptations the fault is mine, wholly mine.”

During this outburst the light of the fire, which old Tabus had fed with fresh straw and dry rushes, fell upon the face of the agitated girl.  It revealed her thoughts plainly enough, and, pleased with the success of his warning, Bias exclaimed:  “And Ledscha, you, too, will not grant him that from which you would so gladly have withheld your sister.  So I will go and tell my master that you refuse to give him another appointment.”

He had confidently expected an assent, and therefore started indignantly at her exclamation:  “I intend to do just the contrary.”  Yet she eagerly added, as if in explanation:  “He must give me an account of himself, no matter where, and, since it can not be to-day, to-morrow at latest.”

The slave, disappointed and anxious, now tried to make her understand how foolish and hard to accomplish her wish was, but she obstinately insisted upon having her own way.

Bias angrily turned his back upon her and, in the early light of the moon, walked toward the shore, but she hastened after him, seized his arm and, with imperious firmness, commanded:  “You will stay!  I must first know whether Hermon really means to leave Tennis so soon.”

“That was his intention early this morning,” replied the other, releasing himself from her grasp.  “What are we to do here longer, now that his work is as good as finished?”

“But when is he going?” she urged with increased eagerness.

“Day after to-morrow,” was the reply, “in five, or perhaps even in six days, just as it suits him.  Usually we do not even know to-day what is to be done to-morrow.  So long as the Alexandrian remains, he will scarcely leave her, or Myrtilus either.  Probably she will take both hunting with her, for, though a kind, fair-minded woman, she loves the chase, and as both have finished their work, they probably will not be reluctant to go with Daphne.”

He stepped into the boat as he spoke, but Ledscha again detained him, asking impatiently:  “And ‘the work,’ as you call it?  It was covered with a cloth when I visited the studio, but Hermon himself termed it the statue of a goddess.  Yet what it represents—­Does it look like my sister Taus—­enough like her, I mean, to be recognised?”

A half-compassionate, half-mocking smile flitted over the Biamite’s copper-coloured visage, and in a tone of patronizing instruction assumed by the better informed, he began:  “You are thinking of the face?  Why no, child!  What that requires can be found in the countenance of no Biamite, hardly even in yours, the fairest of all.”