“Yes, Master! on the morning after we reached Doomiat, a trireme took them all out to sea.”

And the old man grumbled to himself:  “The working bees killed and the Drones saved!”

Gibbus, however, contradicted him, praising the laborious and useful life of the sisters, in whose care he himself had once been.

Meanwhile Philippus had read his friend’s last letter.  Greatly disturbed by it he turned hither and thither, paced the room with long steps, and finally paused in front of the gardener, exclaiming:  “And what next?  Who is to tell them the news?”

“You,” replied Gibbus, raising his hands in entreaty.

“I-oh, of course, I!” growled the physician.  “Whatever is difficult, painful, intolerable, falls on my shoulders as a matter of course!  But I cannot—­ought not—­I will not do it.  Had I any part or lot in devising this mad expedition?  You observe, Father?—­What he, the simpleton, brewed, I—­I again am to drink.  Fate has settled that!”

“It is hard, it is hard, child!” replied the old man.  “Still, it is your duty.  Only consider—­if that man, as he stands before us now, were to appear before the women....”

But Philippus broke in:  “No, no, that would not do!  And you, Gibbus—­ this very day there has been an Arab again to see Joanna; and if they were to suspect that you had been with your master—­for you look strangely.—­No, man; your devotion merits a better reward.  They shall not catch you.  I release you from your service to the widow, and we—­ what do you say, Father?—­we will keep him here.”

“Right, very right,” said Horapollo.  “The Nile must some day rise again.  Stay with us; I have long had a fancy to eat vegetables of my own growing.”

But Gibbus firmly declined the offer, saying he wished to return to his old mistress.  When the physician again pointed out to him how great a danger he was running into, and the old man desired to know his reasons, the hunch-back exclaimed: 

“I promised my master to stay with the women; and now, while in all the household I am the only free man, shall I leave them unprotected to secure my own miserable life?  Sooner would I see a scimitar at my throat.  When my head is off the rascals are welcome to all that is left.”

The words came hollow and broken from his parched tongue, and as he spoke the faithful fellow’s face changed.  Even under the dust he turned pale, and Philippus had to support him, for his feet refused their office.  His long tramp through the torrid heat had exhausted his strength; but a draught of wine soon brought him to himself again and Horapollo ordered the slave to lead him to the kitchen and desire the cook to take the best care of him.

As soon as the friends were alone, the elder observed: 

“That worthy, foolhardy, old child who is now dead, seems to have left you some strange request.  I could see that as you were reading.”