But the old woman’s struggle between the duty that kept her near the fire and the love that drew her away from it was not of long duration.  In a few minutes Melissa, her hands clasping the slave’s withered arm, was listening to the tender words of welcome that Dido had ready for her.  The slave woman declared that she scarcely dared to let her eyes rest upon her mistress, much less touch her with the fingers that had just been cleaning fish; for the girl was dressed as grandly as the daughter of the high-priest.  Melissa laughed at this; but the slave went on to say that they had not been able to detain her master.  His longing to see his daughter and the desire to speak with Caesar had driven him out of the house, and Alexander had, of course, accompanied him.  Only Philip, poor, crushed worm, was at home, and the sight of her would put more strength into him than the strong soup and the old wine which his father had fetched for him from the store-room, although he generally reserved it for libations on her mother’s grave.

Melissa soon stood beside her brother’s couch, and the sight of him cast a dark shadow over the brightness of this happy morn.  As he recognized her, a fleeting smile crossed the pale, spiritualized face, which seemed to her to have grown ten years older in this short time; but it vanished as quickly as it had come.  Then the great eyes gazed blankly again from the shadows that surrounded them, and a spasm of pain quivered from time to time round the thin, tightly closed lips.  Melissa could hardly restrain her tears.  Was this what he had been brought to-the youth who only a few days ago had made them all feel conscious of the superiority of his brilliant mind!

Her warm heart made her feel more lovingly toward her sick brother than she had ever done when he was in health, and surely he was conscious of the tenderness with which she strove to comfort him.

The unaccustomed, hard, and degrading work at the oars, she assured him, would have worn out a stronger man than he; but he would soon be able to visit the Museum again and argue as bravely as ever.  With this, she bent over him to kiss his brow, but he raised himself a little, and said, with a contemptuous smile: 

“Apathy—­ataraxy—­complete indifference—­is the highest aim after which the soul of the skeptic strives.  That at least”—­and here his eyes flashed for a moment—­“I have attained to in these cursed days.  That a thinking being could become so utterly callous to everything—­everything, be it what it may—­even I could never have believed!” He sank into silence, but his sister urged him to take courage—­surely many a glad day was before him yet.

At this he raised himself more energetically, and exclaimed: 

“Glad days?—­for me, and with you?  That you should still be of such good cheer would please or else astonish me if I were still capable of those sentiments.  If things were different, I should ask you now, what have you given the imperial bloodhound in return for our freedom?”