her to meet her cousin face to face.  On this point no one could advise her, not even Perpetua; her own mother could hardly have understood all her feelings on such an occasion.  She scarcely knew herself indeed; for hitherto she had never failed, even in the most difficult cases, to know at once and without long reflection, what to do and to leave undone, what under special circumstances was right or wrong.  But now she felt herself a yielding reed, a leaf tossed hither and thither; and every time she set her teeth and clenched her hands, determined to think calmly and to reason out the “for” and “against,” her mind wandered away again, while the memory of her dream, of Orion as he stood by his father’s grave—­of Katharina’s tale of “the other,” and the fearful punishment which he had to suffer, nay indeed, certainly had suffered—­came and went in her mind like the flocks of birds over the Nile, whose dipping and soaring had often passed like a fluttering veil between her eye and some object on the further shore.

It was three hours past noon, and she had returned to the sick-room, when she thought that she heard hoofs in the garden and hurried to the window once more.  Her heart had not beat more wildly when the dog had flown at her and Hiram that fateful night, than it did now as she hearkened to the approach of a horseman, still hidden from her gaze by the shrubs.  It must be Orion—­but why did he not dismount?  No, it could not be he; his tall figure would have overtopped the shrubbery which was of low growth.

She did not know her host’s friends; it was one of them very likely.  Now the horse had turned the corner; now it was coming up the path from the front gate; now Rufinus had gone forth to meet the visitor—­and it was not Orion, but his secretary, a much smaller man, who slipped off a mule that she at once recognized, threw the reins to a lad, handed something to the old man, and then dropped on to a bench to yawn and stretch his legs.

Then she saw Rufinus come towards the house.  Had Orion charged this messenger to bring her her possessions?  She thought this somewhat insulting, and her blood boiled with wrath.  But there could be no question here of a surrender of property; for what her host was holding in his hand was nothing heavy, but a quite small object; probably, nay, certainly a roll of papyrus.  He was coming up the narrow stairs, so she ran out to meet him, blushing as though she were doing something wrong.  The old man observed this and said, as he handed her the scroll: 

“You need not be frightened, daughter of a hero.  The young lord is not here himself, he prefers, it would seem, to treat with you by letter; and it is best so for both parties.”

Paula nodded agreement; she took the roll, and then, while she tore the silken tie from the seal, she turned her back on the old man; for she felt that the blood had faded from her face, and her hands were trembling.