She was weary, and where could she rest so well as at home?  She had escaped many perils, and where could she feel so safe as under her father’s roof?  Glad as she was at the prospect of her new and handsome home on the other side of the lake, and of all the delights promised her by Diodoros’s affection, her heart still clung fondly to the pretty, neat little dwelling whose low roof now gleamed in front of her.  In the garden, whose shell-strewn paths she now trod, she had played as a child; that window belonged to the room where her mother had died.  And then, coming home was in itself a joy, when she had so much to tell that was pleasant.

The dog leaped along by her side with vehement affection, jumping round her and on her, and she heard the starling’s cry, first “Olympias!” and then “My strength!”

A happy smile parted her rosy lips as she glanced at the work-room; but the two white teeth which always gleamed when she was gay were presently hidden, for her father, it would seem, was out.  He was certainly not at work, for the wide window was unscreened, and it was now nearly noon.  He was almost always within at this hour, and it would spoil half her gladness not to find him there.

But what was this?  What could this mean?  The dog had announced her approach, and old Dido’s gray head peeped out of the house-door, to vanish again at once.  How strangely she had looked at her—­exactly as she had looked that day when the physician had told the faithful creature that her mistress’s last hour was at hand!

Melissa’s contentment was gone.  Before she even crossed the threshold, where the friendly word “Rejoice” greeted her in brown mosaic, she called the old woman by name.  No answer.

She went into the kitchen to find Dido; for she, according to her invariable habit of postponing evil as long as possible, had fled to the hearth.  There she stood, though the fire was out, weeping bitterly, and covering her wrinkled face with her hands, as though she quailed before the eyes of the girl she must so deeply grieve.  One glance at the woman, and the tears which trickled through her fingers and down her lean arms told Melissa that something dreadful had happened.  Very pale, and clasping her hand to her heaving bosom, she desired to be told all; but for some time Dido was quite unable to speak intelligibly.  And before she could make up her mind to it, she looked anxiously for Argutis, whom she held to be the wisest of mankind, and who, she knew, would reveal the dreadful thing that must be told more judiciously than she could.  But the Gaul was not to be seen; so Dido, interrupted by sobs, began the melancholy tale.