just as he was.  I had to bring him to his senses; and then, while I was oiling his hair and helping him into his best new mantle, he changed his mind, for he declared he would come home first, to talk with you and Argutis.  Argutis was at home again, but he had not found Alexander, for the poor youth has to hide himself as if he were a murderer.”  And again she sobbed; nor was it till Melissa had soothed her with kind speeches that she could go on with her story.

Philip had learned yesterday where Alexander was concealed, so he undertook to go across the lake and inform him of what had occurred.  But Argutis, faithful and prudent, had hindered him, representing that Alexander, who was easily moved, as soon as he heard that his father was a prisoner would unhesitatingly give himself up to his enemies as a hostage, and rush headlong into danger.  Alexander must remain in hiding so long as Caesar was in Alexandria.  He (Argutis) would go instead of Philip, who, for his part, might call on the prefect later.  He would cross the lake and warn Melissa not to return home, and to tell Alexander what he might think necessary.  The watch might possibly follow Argutis; but he knew every lane and alley, and could mislead and avoid them.  Philip had listened to reason.  The slave went, and must now soon be back again.

Of how different a home-coming had Melissa dreamed!  What new and terrible griefs were these!  Still, though distressed at the thought of her vehement father in prison, she shed no tears, but told herself that matters could only be mended by rational action on behalf of the victims, and not by lamentations.  She must be alone, to collect her strength and consider the situation.  So she desired Dido, to her great amazement, to prepare some food, and bring her wine and water.  Then, seating herself, with a melancholy glance at her embroidery where it lay folded together, she rested her elbow on the table and her head in her hand, considering to whom she could appeal to save her father.

First she thought of Caesar himself, whose eye had met hers, and for whom she had prayed and offered sacrifice.  But the blood fired her cheeks at the thought, and she repelled it at once.  Yet her mind would linger at the Serapeum, where her lover, too, still rested his fevered head.  She knew that the high-priests’ spacious lodgings there, with their splendid rooms and banqueting halls, had been prepared for the emperor; and she remembered various things which her brother had told her of Timotheus, who was at the head not only of the heathen priesthood, but also of the museum.  He was said to be a philosopher, and Philip had more than once been distinguished by him, and invited to his house.  Her brother must apply to him.  He, who was in a way Caracalla’s host, would easily succeed in obtaining her father’s release, from his imperial guest.

Her grave face brightened at this thought, and, while she ate and drank, another idea struck her.  Alexander, too, must be known to the high-priest; for Timotheus was the brother of Seleukus, whose daughter the artist had just painted, and Timotheus had seen the portrait and praised it highly.  Thus it was not improbable that the generous man would, if Philip besought him, intercede for Alexander.  So all might turn out better than she had ventured to hope.