“And I?” said Heron, irritably.  “It seems to me that children are learning to care less and less what their fathers’ views and requirements may be.  I have to go to Philip.  Who knows what may happen in my absence?  Besides—­no offense to you, Andreas—­what concern has my daughter among the Christians?”

“To visit her lover,” replied Andreas, sharply.  And he added, more quietly:  “It will be a pleasure to me to escort her; and your Argutis is a faithful fellow, and in case of need would be of more use here than an inexperienced girl.  I see no reasonable ground for detaining her, Heron.  I should like afterwards to take her home with me, across the lake; it would be a comfort to Polybius and soothe his pain to have his favorite with him, his future daughter.—­Get ready, my child.”

The artist had listened with growing anger, and a swift surge of rage made him long to give the freedman a sharp lesson.  But when his glaring eye met the Christian’s steady, grave gaze, he controlled himself, and only said, with a shrug which sufficiently expressed his feeling that he was surrendering his veto against his better judgment, addressing himself to Melissa and ignoring Andreas: 

“You are betrothed, and of age.  Go, for aught I care, in obedience to him whose wishes evidently outweigh mine.  Polybius’s son is your master henceforth.”

He folded his mantle, and when the girl hastened to help him he allowed her to do it; but he went on, to the freedman:  “And for aught I care, you may take her across the lake, too.  It is natural that Polybius should wish to see his future daughter.  But one thing I may ask for myself:  You have slaves and to spare; if anything happens to Alexander, let me hear of it at once.”

He kissed Melissa on the head, nodded patronizingly to Andreas, and left the house.

His soft-hearted devotion to a vision had weakened his combativeness; still, he would have yielded less readily to a man who had once been a slave, but that the invitation to Melissa released him of her presence for a while.

He was not, indeed, afraid of his daughter; but she need not know that he wanted Philip to make him acquainted with Serapion, and that through his mediation he hoped at least to see the spirit of the wife he mourned.  When he was fairly out of the house he smiled with satisfaction like a school-boy who had escaped his master.

CHAPTER VII.

Melissa, too, had a sense of freedom when she found herself walking by the side of Andreas.

In the garden of Hermes, where her father’s house stood, there were few signs of the excitement with which the citizens awaited Caesar’s arrival.  Most of those who were out and about were going in the opposite direction; they meant to await the grand reception of Caracalla at the eastern end of the city, on his way from the Kanopic Gate to the Gate of the Sun.  Still, a good many—­men, women and children—­were, like themselves, walking westward, for it was known that Caesar would alight at the Serapeum.