The old woman assured her, as they walked on, that Diodoros had always been born to good luck; and it was clear that this had never been truer than now, when Galenus had come in the nick of time to restore him to life and health, and when he had won such a bride as Melissa.  Then she sang the praises of Agatha, of her beauty and goodness, and told her that the Christian damsel had made many inquiries concerning Alexander.  She, the speaker, had not been chary of her praise of the youth, and, unless she was much mistaken, the arrow of Eros had this time pierced Agatha’s heart, though till now she had been as a child—­an innocent child—­as she herself could say, who had seen her grow up from the cradle.  Her faith need not trouble either Melissa or Alexander, for gentler and more modest wives than the Christian women were not to be found among the Greeks—­and she had known many.

Melissa rarely interrupted the garrulous old woman; but, while she listened, pleasant pictures of the future rose before her fancy.  She saw herself and Diodoros ruling over Polybius’s household, and, close at hand, on Zeno’s estate, Alexander with his beautiful and adored wife.  There, under Zeno’s watchful eye, the wild youth would become a noble man.  Her father would often come to visit them, and in their happiness would learn to find pleasure in life again.  Only now and then the thought of the sacrifice which the vehement Philip must make for his younger brother, and of the danger which still threatened Alexander, disturbed the cheerful contentment of her soul, rich as it was in glad hopes.

The nearer they got to her own home, the more lightly her heart beat.  She had none but good news to report there.  The old woman, panting for breath, was obliged to beg her to consider her sixty years and moderate her pace.

Melissa willingly checked her steps; and when, at the end of the street of Hermes, they reached the temple of the god from whom it was named and turned off to the right, the good woman parted from her, for in this quiet neighborhood she could safely be trusted to take care of herself.

Melissa was now alone.  On her left lay the gardens of Hermes, where, on the southern side, stood her father’s house and that of their neighbor Skopas.  Though the old nurse had indeed talked of nothing that was not pleasant, it was a comfort not to have to listen to her, but to be free to follow her own thoughts.  Nor did she meet with anything to distract them, for at this hour the great public garden was left almost entirely to children and their attendants, or to the inhabitants of the immediate neighborhood who frequented the temples of Hermes or Artemis, or the little shrine of Asklepios, which stood in a grove of mimosas on the skirt of the park, and to which Melissa herself felt attracted.  It had been a familiar spot at the time when her mother was at the worst.  How often had she flown hither from her home near at hand to pour oil on the altar of the god of healing—­to make some small offering and find comfort in prayer!