Melissa screamed for help, but the gruff voice angrily bade her be silent.  Far from obeying him, the girl shouted louder than ever; and now, out of the entrance to the cave, close behind the scene of the disaster, came a number of men with lamps and tapers.  They were the same daimons whose song she had heard in the street; she could not be mistaken.  On her knees, by the side of her lover as he lay on the ground, she stared up at the apparitions.  A stone flew at the dog to scare him off, and a second, larger than the first, whisked past her and hit Diodoros on the head; she heard the dull blow.  At this a cold hand seemed to clutch her heart; everything about her melted into one whirling, colorless cloud.  Pale as death, she threw up her arms to protect herself, and then, overcome with terror and fatigue, with a faint cry of anguish she lost consciousness.

When she opened her eyes again her head was resting in the lap of a kind, motherly woman, while some men were just bearing away the senseless form of Diodoros on a bier.

CHAPTER VI.

The sun had risen an hour since.  Heron had betaken himself to his workshop, whistling as he went, and in the kitchen his old slave Argutis was standing over the hearth preparing his master’s morning meal.  He dropped a pinch of dill into the barley-porridge, and shook his gray head solemnly.

His companion Dido, a Syrian, whose wavy white hair contrasted strangely with her dark skin, presently came in, and, starting up, he hastily inquired, “Not in yet?”

“No,” said the other woman, whose eyes were full of tears.  “And you know what my dream was.  Some evil has come to her, I am certain; and when the master hears of it—­” Here she sobbed aloud; but the slave reproved her for useless weeping.

“You never carried her in your arms,” whimpered the woman.

“But often enough on my shoulder,” retorted the Gaul, for Argutis was a native of Augusta Trevirorum, on the Moselle.  “Assoon as the porridge is ready you must take it in and prepare the master.”

“That his first fury may fall on me!” said the old woman, peevishly.  “I little thought when I was young!”

“That is a very old story,” said Argutis, “and we both know what the master’s temper is.  I should have been off long ago if only you could make his porridge to his mind.  As soon as I have dished it I will go to seek Alexander—­there is nothing to prevent me—­for it was with him that she left the house.”

At this the old woman dried her tears, and cried “Yes, only go, and make haste.  I will do everything else.  Great gods, if she should be brought home dead!  I know how it is; she could bear the old man’s temper and this moping life no longer, and has thrown herself into the water.

“My dream, my dream!  Here—­here is the dish, and now go and find the boy.  Still, Philip is the elder.”