To her and hers a portion of life had come to an end, and a new one must grow out of it.  Should the free-born race of Heron perish in captivity and death?

The evening star blazed out on the distant horizon, seeming to her as a sign from the gods; and she told herself that it must be her part, as the last of the family who remained free, to guard the others from destruction in this new life.

The heavens were soon blazing with stars.  The banquet in Seleukus’s house, at which Caesar was to appear, would begin in an hour.  Irresolution and delay would ruin all; so she drew herself up resolutely and called to Argutis, who had watched her with faithful sympathy: 

“Take my father’s blue cloak, Argutis, to make you more dignified; and disguise yourself, for you must escort me, and we may be followed.  You, Dido, come and help me.  Take my new dress, that I wore at the Feast of Adonis, out of my trunk; and with it you will see my mother’s blue fillet with the gems.  My father used to say I should first wear it at my wedding, but—­Well, you must bind my hair with it to-night.  I am going to a grand house, where no one will be admitted who does not look worthy of people of mark.  But take off the jewel; a supplicant should make no display.”

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A THORNY PATH

By Georg Ebers

Volume 5.

CHAPTER XV.

Nothing delighted old Dido more than to dress the daughter of her beloved mistress in all her best, for she had helped to bring her up; but to-day it was a cruel task; tears dimmed her old eyes.  It was not till she had put the finishing touches to braiding the girl’s abundant brown hair, pinned her peplos on the shoulders with brooches, and set the girdle straight, that her face cleared, as she looked at the result.  Never had she seen her darling look so fair.  Nothing, indeed, remained of the child-like timidity and patient submissiveness which had touched Dido only two days since, as she plaited Melissa’s hair.  The maiden’s brow was grave and thoughtful, the lips firmly set; but she seemed to Dido to have grown, and to have gained something of her mother’s mature dignity.  She looked, the old woman told her, like the image of Pallas Athene; adding, to make her smile, that if she wanted an owl, she, Dido, could fill the part.  Jesting had never been the old woman’s strong point, and to-day it was less easy than ever; for, if the worst befell, and she were sent in her old age to a strange house—­and Argutis, no doubt, to another—­she would have to turn the handmill for the rest of her days.

But it was a hard task which the motherless—­and now fatherless—­girl had set herself, and she must try to cheer her darling.  While she was dressing her, she never ceased praying to all the gods and goddesses she could think of to come to the maiden’s aid and move the souls of those who could help her.  And though she was, as a rule, ready to expect the worst, this time she hoped for the best; for Seleukus’s wife must have a heart of stone if she could close it to such innocence, such beauty, and the pathetic glance of those large, imploring eyes.