And how proud was Melissa to speak of the bright young artist, who till now had been the sun of her joyless life!  There was much that was good to be said about him:  for the best masters rated his talent highly in spite of his youth; his comrades were faithful; and none knew so well as he how to cheer his father’s dark moods.  Then, there were many amiable and generous traits of which she had been told, or had herself known.  With his very first savings, he had had the Genius with a reversed torch cast in bronze to grace his mother’s grave, and give his father pleasure.  Once he had been brought home half dead after saving a woman and child from drowning, and vainly endeavoring to rescue another child.  He might be wild and reckless, but he had always been faithful to his art and to his love for his family.

Agatha’s eyes opened widely when Melissa told her anything good about her brother, and she clung in terror to her new friend as she heard of her excited orgy with her lover.

Scared as though some imminent horror threatened herself, she clasped Melissa’s hand as she listened to the tale of the dangers Alexander had so narrowly escaped.

Such things had never before reached the ears of the girl in her retired Christian home beyond the lake; they sounded to her as the tales of some bold seafarer to the peaceful husbandman on whose shores the storm has wrecked him.

“And do you know,” she exclaimed, “all this seems delightful to me, though my father, I am sure, would judge it hardly!  When your brother risks his life, it is always for others, and that is right—­that is the highest life.  I think of him as an angel with a flaming sword.  But you do not know our sacred scriptures.”

Then Melissa would hear more of this book, of which Andreas had frequently spoken; but there was a knock at the door, and she sprang out of bed.

Agatha did the same; and when a slave-girl had brought in fresh, cold water, she insisted on handing her friend the towels, on plaiting her long hair, pinning her peplos in its place, and arranging its folds.  She had so often longed for a sister, and she felt as though she had found one in Melissa!  While she helped her to dress she kissed her preserver’s sister on the eyes and lips, and entreated her with affectionate urgency to come to see her, as soon as she had done all she could for her lover.  She must be made acquainted with her father, and Agatha longed to show her her poor children, her dogs, and her pigeons.  And she would go to see Melissa, when she was staying with Polybius.

“And there,” Melissa put in, “you will see my brother, too.”

On which the Christian girl exclaimed:  You must bring him to our house.  My father will be glad to thank him—­” Here she paused, and then added, “Only he must not again risk his life so rashly.”

“He will be well hidden at the house of Polybius,” replied Melissa, consolingly.  “And Andreas has him fast by this time.”