With quickened breath Euryale had listened to the philosopher, without regarding the girl; but scarcely had Philostratus uttered his last words than Melissa ran to her, and, clasping her hands passionately on the matron’s arm, she cried, “Ought I to obey you, Euryale, and the terrors of my own heart, and flee?”

Then releasing the lady, she turned again to the philosopher, and burst out:  “Or are you in the right, Philostratus?  Must I stay, to prevent the misery that threatens to overtake others?”

Beside herself, torn by the storm that raged in her soul, she clasped her hands upon her brow and continued, wildly:  “You are both of you so wise, and surely wish the best.  How can you give me such opposite advice?  And my own heart?—­why have the gods struck it dumb?  Time was when it spoke loudly enough if ever I was in doubt.  One thing I know for certain:  if by the sacrifice of my life I could undo it all, I would joyfully cast myself before the lions and panthers, like the Christian maiden whom my mother saw smiling radiantly as she was led into the arena.  Splendor and power are as hateful to me as the flowers yonder with their false dew.  I was ever taught to close my ear to the voice of selfishness.  If I have any wish for myself, it is that I may keep my faith with him to whom it was promised.  But for love of my father, and if I could be certain of saving many from death and misery, I would stay, though I should despise myself and be separated forever from my beloved!”

“Submit to the inevitable,” interposed the philosopher, with eager entreaty.  “The immortal gods will reward you with the blessings of hundreds whom a word from you will have saved from ruin and destruction.”

“And what say you?” asked the maiden, gazing with anxious expectancy into the matron’s face.  “Follow your own heart!” replied the lady, deeply moved.

Melissa had hearkened to both counselors with eager ear, and both hung anxiously on her lips, while, as if taken out of herself, she gazed with panting bosom into the empty air.  They had not long to wait.  Suddenly the maiden approached Philostratus and said with a firmness and decision that astonished her friend: 

“This will I do—­this—­I feel it here—­this is the right.  I remain, I renounce the love of my heart, and accept what Fate has laid upon me.  It will be hard, and the sacrifice that I offer is great.  But I must first have the certainty that it shall not be in vain.”

“But, child,” cried Philostratus, “who can look into the future, and answer for what is still to come?”

“Who?” asked Melissa, undaunted.  “He alone in whose hand lies my future.  To Caesar himself I leave the decision.  Go you to him now and speak for me.  Bring him greeting from me, and tell him that I, whom he honors with his love, dare to entreat him modestly but earnestly not to punish the aged Claudius Vindex and his nephew for the fault they were guilty of on my account.