CHAPTER XI.

Melissa, too, would probably have found herself a prisoner, but that Zminis, seeing himself balked of a triumph, and beside himself with rage, rushed after the fugitive with the rest.  She had no further occasion to seek the house where her lover was lying, for Agatha knew it well.  Its owner, Proterius, was an illustrious member of the Christian community, and she had often been to see him with her father.

On their way the girls confided to each other what had brought them out into the streets at so unusual an hour; and when Melissa spoke of her companion’s extraordinary resemblance to the dead daughter of Seleukus—­ which, no doubt, had been Alexander’s inducement to follow her—­Agatha told her that she had constantly been mistaken for her uncle’s daughter, so early lost.  She herself had not seen her cousin for some few years, for Seleukus had quarreled with his brother’s family when they had embraced Christianity.  The third brother, Timotheus, the high-priest of Serapis, had proved more placable, and his wife Euryale was of all women the one she loved best.  And presently it appeared that Agatha, too, had lost her mother, and this drew the girls so closely together, that they clasped hands and walked on like sisters or old and dear friends.

They were not kept long waiting outside the house of Proterius, for Andreas was in the vestibule arranging the litter for the conveyance of Diodoros, with the willing help of Ptolemaeus.  The freedman was indeed amazed when he heard Melissa’s voice, and blamed her for this fresh adventure.  However, he was glad to see her, for, although it seemed almost beyond the bounds of possibility, he had already fancied more than once, as steps had approached and passed, that she must surely be coming to lend him a helping hand.

It was easy to hear in his tone of voice that her bold venture was at least as praiseworthy as it was blameworthy in his eyes, and the grave man was as cheerful as he commonly was only when among his flowers.  Never before had Melissa heard a word of compliment from his lips, but as Agatha stood with one arm round Melissa’s shoulders, he said to the physician, as he pointed to the pair, “Like two roses on one stem!”

He had good reason, indeed, to be content.  Diodoros was no worse, and Galen was certainly expected to visit the sick in the Serapeum.  He regarded it, too, as a dispensation from Heaven that Agatha and Melissa should have happened to meet, and Alexander’s happy escape had taken a weight from his mind.  He willingly acceded to Melissa’s request that he would take her and Agatha to see the sick man; but he granted them only a short time to gaze at the sleeper, and then requested the deaconess to find a room for the two damsels, who needed rest.

The worthy woman rose at once; but Melissa urgently entreated to be allowed to remain by her lover’s side, and glanced anxiously at the keys in the matron’s hand.