He raised his fist and shook it close in front of Melissa’s eyes.

She stood before him as pale as death, and with wide-open eyes, from which the heavy tears dropped slowly, one by one, trickling down her cheeks as if they were tired.  Heron saw them, and his rage melted.  He staggered to a seat like a drunken man, and, hiding his face in his hands, moaned aloud, “Wretch, wretch that I am!” But his child’s soft hand was laid on his head; warm, girlish lips kissed his brow; and Melissa whispered beseechingly:  “Peace, father, peace.  All may yet be well.  I have something to tell you that will make you glad too; yes, I am sure it will make you glad.”

Her father shrugged his shoulders incredulously, but wanted to know immediately what the miracle was that could smooth his brow.  Melissa, however, would not tell him till it came in its place in her story.  So he had to submit; he drew his seat up to the table, and took up a lump of modeling-wax to keep his restless fingers employed while he listened.  She, too, sat down; she could scarcely stand.

At first he listened calmly to her narrative; and when she told him of Alexander’s jest at Caesar’s expense his face brightened.  His Alexandrian blood and his relish for a biting speech got the upper hand; he gave a sounding slap on his mighty leg, and exclaimed:  “A cursed good thought!  But the boy forgot that when Zeus only lamed his son it was because he is immortal; while Caesar’s brother was as feeble a mortal as Caracalla himself is said to be at this day.”

He laughed noisily; but it was for the last time that morning; for hardly had he heard the name of Zminis, and learned that it was he who had over heard Alexander, than he threw down the wax and started to his feet in horror, crying: 

“That dog, who dared to cast his eyes on your mother, and persecuted her long after she had shown him the door!  That sly mischief-maker!  Many a time has he set snares in our path.  If he succeeds in tightening the noose into which the boy has so heedlessly thrust his head—­But first tell me, has he caught him already, or is Alexander still at liberty?”

But no one, not even Argutis, who was still out on the search, could tell him this; and he was now so greatly disturbed that, during the rest of Melissa’s narrative, he perpetually paced the room, interrupting her now and then with questions or with outbursts of indignation.  And then it occurred to him that he ought himself to seek his son, and he occupied himself with getting ready to go out.

Even when she spoke of the Magian, and his conviction that those who know are able to hold intercourse with the souls of the dead, he shrugged his shoulders incredulously, and went on lacing his sandals.  But when Melissa assured him that not she alone, but Diodoros with her, had seen the wandering soul of the departed Korinna in the train of ghosts, he dropped the straps he had bound round his ankle, and asked her who this Magian was, and where he might be found.  However, she knew no more than that his name was Serapion, and she briefly described his dignified presence.