“I too had hoped that,” cried Alexander, “and it seemed so likely.  But who can understand the populace?  Every woman in the place, I should have thought, would hold her head higher, at the thought that an Alexandrian girl was empress; but it was from the women that I heard the most vindictive and shameless abuse.  I heard more than enough; for, as we got closer to the Serapeum, the more slowly was the chariot obliged to proceed, to make its way through the crowd.  And the things I heard!  I clinch my fists now as I only think of them.—­And what will it be in the Circus?  What will not Melissa have to endure!”

“It is envy,” the matron murmured to herself; but she was immediately silent, for the young girl came toward them, out of the bedroom.  Her toilet was complete; the beautiful white dress became her well.  The wreath of roses, with diamond dewdrops, lay lightly on her hair, the snake-shaped bracelet which her imperial suitor had sent her clasped her white arm, and her small head, somewhat bent, her pale, sweet face, and large, bashful, inquiring, drooping eyes formed such an engaging, modest, and unspeakably touching picture, that Euryale dared to hope that even in the Circus none but hardened hearts could harbor a hostile feeling against this gentle, pure blossom, slightly drooping with silent sorrow.  She could not resist the impulse to kiss Melissa, and the half-formed purpose ripened within her to venture the utmost for the child’s protection.  The pity in her heart had turned to love; and when she saw that to this sweet creature, at the mere sight of whom her heart went forth, the most splendid jewels, in which any other girl would have been glad to deck herself, were as a heavy burden to be borne but sadly, she felt it a sacred duty to comfort her and lighten this trial, and shelter Melissa, so far as was in her power, from insult and humiliation.

It was many years since she had visited the Amphitheater, where the horrible butchery was an abomination to her; but to-day her heart bade her conquer her old aversion, and accompany the girl to the Circus.

Had not Melissa taken the place in her heart of her lost daughter?  Was not she, Euryale, the only person who, by showing herself with Melissa and declaring herself her friend, could give the people assurance that the girl, who was exposed to misapprehension and odium by the favor she had met with from the ruthless and hated sovereign, was in truth pure and lovable?  Under her guardianship, by her side, the girl, as she knew, would be protected from misapprehension and insult; and she, an old woman and a Christian, should she evade the first opportunity of taking up a cross in imitation of the Divine Master, among whose followers she joyfully counted herself—­though secretly, for fear of men?  All this flashed through her mind with the swiftness of lightning, and her call, “Doris!” addressed to her waiting-woman, was so clear and unexpected that Melissa’s overstrung nerves were startled.  She looked up at the lady in amazement, as, without a word of explanation, she said to the woman who had hurried in: