Now they could both come out again; but these few weeks had affected them very differently.  The gem-cutter looked like the shadow of himself, and had lost his upright carriage.  He knew, indeed, that Melissa was alive, and that Alexander, after being wounded, had been carried by Andreas to the house of Zeno, and was on the way to recovery; but the death of his favorite son preyed on his mind, and it was a great grievance that his house should have been wrecked and burned.  His hidden gold, which was safe with him, would have allowed of his building a far finer one in its stead, but the fact that it should be his fellow-citizens who had destroyed it was worst of all.  It weighed on his spirits, and made him morose and silent.

Old Dido, who had risked her life more than once, looked at him with mournful eyes, and besought all the gods she worshiped to restore her good master’s former vigor, that she might once more hear him curse and storm; for his subdued mood seemed to her unnatural and alarming—­a portent of his approaching end.

Praxilla, too, the comfortable widow, had grown pale and thin, but old Dido had learned a great deal from her teaching.  Polybius only was more cheerful than ever.  He knew that his son and Melissa had escaped the most imminent dangers.  This made him glad; and then his sister had done wonders that he might not too greatly miss his cook.  His meals had nevertheless been often scanty enough, and this compulsory temperance had relieved him of his gout and done him so much good that, when Andreas led him out into daylight once more, the burly old man exclaimed:  “I feel as light as a bird.  If I had but wings I could fly across the lake to see the boy.  It is you, my brother, who have helped to make me so much lighter.”  He laid his arm on the freedman’s shoulder and kissed him on the cheeks.  It was for the first time; and never before had he called him brother.  But that his lips had obeyed the impulse of his heart might be seen in the tearful glitter of his eyes, which met those of Andreas, and they, too, were moist.

Polybius knew all that the Christian had done for his son and for Melissa, for him and his, and his jest in saying that Andreas had helped to make him lighter referred to his latest achievement.  Julianus, the new governor of the city, who now occupied the residence of the prefect Titianus, had taken advantage of the oppressed people to extract money, and Andreas, by the payment of a large sum, had succeeded in persuading him to sign a document which exonerated Polybius and his son from all criminality, and protected their person and property against soldiers and town guards alike.  This safe-conduct secured a peaceful future to the genial old man, and filled the measure of what he owed to the freedman, even to overflowing.  Andreas, on his part, felt that his former owner’s kiss and brotherly greeting had sealed his acceptance as a free man.  He asked no greater reward than