Here Melissa exclaimed indignantly, but he continued unabashed: 

“Alexander says you have found favor with our imperial master.  He calls, and you come.  Naturally, it is for him to command.  See how much can be made of the child of a gem-cutter!  But what says handsome Diodoros to all this?—­Why turn so pale?  These, truly, are questions which I would fling in your face were things as they used to be.  Now I say in all unconcern, do what you will!”

The blood had ebbed from Melissa’s cheeks during this attack of her brother’s.  His injurious and false accusations roused her indignation to the utmost, but one glance at his weary, suffering face showed her how great was the pain he endured, and in her compassionate heart pity strove against righteous anger.  The struggle was sharp, but pity prevailed; and, instead of punishing him by a sharp retort, she forced herself to explain to him in a few gentle words what had happened, in order to dispel the unworthy suspicion that must surely hurt him as much as it did her.  She felt convinced that the sufferer would be cheered by her words; but he made no attempt to show that he appreciated her kindly moderation, nor to express any satisfaction.  On the contrary, when he spoke it was in the same tone as before.

“If that be the case,” he said, “so much the better; but were it otherwise, it would have to be endured just the same.  I can think of nothing that could affect me now, and it is well.  Only my body troubles me still.  It weighs upon me like lead, and grows heavier with every word I utter.  Therefore, I pray you, leave me to myself!”

But his sister would not obey.  “No, Philip,” she cried, eagerly, “this may not be.  Let your strong spirit arise and burst asunder the bonds that fetter and cripple it.”

At this a groan of pain escaped the philosopher, and, turning again to the girl, he answered, with a mournful smile: 

“Bid the cushion in that arm-chair do so.  It will succeed better than I!” Then crying out impatiently and as loudly as he could, “Now go—­you know not how you torture me!” he turned away from her and buried his face in the pillows.

But Melissa, as if beside herself, laid her hands upon his shoulder, and, shaking him gently, exclaimed:  “And even if it vexes you, I will not be driven away thus.  The misfortunes that have befallen you in these days will end by destroying you, if you will not pull yourself together.  We must have patience, and it can only come about slowly, but you must make an effort.  The least thing that pains you hurts us too, and you, in return, may not remain indifferent to what we feel.  See, Philip, our mother and Andrew taught us often not to think only of ourselves, but of others.  We ask so little of you; but if you—­”

At this the philosopher shook himself free of her hand, and cried in a voice of anguish: 

“Away, I say!  Leave me alone!  One word more, and I die!” With this he hid his head in the coverlet, and Melissa could see how his limbs quivered convulsively as if shaken by an ague.