She went into the kitchen to find Dido; for she, according to her invariable habit of postponing evil as long as possible, had fled to the hearth.  There she stood, though the fire was out, weeping bitterly, and covering her wrinkled face with her hands, as though she quailed before the eyes of the girl she must so deeply grieve.  One glance at the woman, and the tears which trickled through her fingers and down her lean arms told Melissa that something dreadful had happened.  Very pale, and clasping her hand to her heaving bosom, she desired to be told all; but for some time Dido was quite unable to speak intelligibly.  And before she could make up her mind to it, she looked anxiously for Argutis, whom she held to be the wisest of mankind, and who, she knew, would reveal the dreadful thing that must be told more judiciously than she could.  But the Gaul was not to be seen; so Dido, interrupted by sobs, began the melancholy tale.

Heron had come home between midnight and sunrise and had gone to bed.  Next morning, while he was feeding the birds, Zminis, the captain of the night-watch, had come in with some men-at-arms, and had tried to take the artist prisoner in Caesar’s name.  On this, Heron had raved like a bull, had appealed to his Macedonian birth, his rights as a Roman citizen, and much besides, and demanded to know of what he was accused.  He was then informed that he was to be held in captivity by the special orders of the head of the police, till his son Alexander, who was guilty of high-treason, should surrender to the authorities.  But her master, said Dido, sobbing, had knocked down the man who had tried to bind him with a mighty blow of his fist.  At last there was a fearful uproar, and in fact a bloody fight.  The starling shouted his cry through it all, the birds fluttered and piped with terror, and it was like the abode of the damned in the nether world; and strangers came crowding about the house, till Skopas arrived and advised Heron to go with the Egyptian.

“But even at the door,” Dido added, “he called out to me that you, Melissa, could remain with Polybius till he should recover his liberty.  Philip was to appeal for help to the prefect Titianus, and offer him the gems—­you know them, he said.  And, last of all,” and again she began to cry, “he especially commended to my care the tomb—­and the birds; and the starling wants some fresh mealworms.”  Melissa heard with dismay; the color had faded from her cheeks, and as Dido ended she asked gloomily: 

“And Philip—­and Alexander?”

“We have thought of everything,” replied the old woman.  “As soon as we were alone we held a council, Argutis and I. He went to find Alexander, and I went to Philip.  I found him in his rooms.  He had come home very late, the porter said, and I saw him in bed, and I had trouble enough to wake him.  Then I told him all, and he went on in such mad talk—­it will be no wonder if the gods punish him.  He wanted to rush off to the prefect, with his hair uncombed,