But when her brother retorted:  “Go, by all means; I do not prevent you!” she started up, exclaiming: 

“And you, and your aches and pains!  How you get on when once my back is turned, we know by experience.  My presence alone is medicine to you.”  “And a bitter dose it is very often,” replied the old man, with a laugh; but Praxilla promptly retorted:  “Like all effectual remedies.  There is your ingratitude again!”

The last words were accompanied by a whimper, so Polybius, who could not bear to see any but cheerful faces, raised his cup and drank her health with kindly words.  Then refilling the tankard, he poured a libation, and was about to empty it to Melissa’s health, but Praxilla’s lean frame was standing by his side as quickly as though a serpent had stung her.  She was drawing a stick of asparagus between her teeth, but she hastily dropped it on her plate, and with both hands snatched the cup from her brother, exclaiming: 

“It is the fourth; and if I allow you to empty it, you are a dead man!”

“Death is not so swift,” replied Polybius, signing to a slave to bring him back the cup.  But he drank only half of it, and, at his sister’s pathetic entreaties, had more water mixed with the wine.  And while Praxilla carefully prepared his crayfish—­for gout had crippled even his fingers—­he beckoned to his white-haired body-slave, and with a cunning smile made him add more wine to the washy fluid.  He fixed his twinkling glance on Melissa, to invite her sympathy in his successful trick, but her appearance startled him.  How pale the child was—­how dejected and weary her sweet face, with the usually bright, expressive eyes!

It needed not the intuition of his kind heart to tell him that she was completely exhausted, and he desired his sister to take her away to bed.  But Melissa was already sound asleep, and Praxilla would not wake her.  She gently placed a pillow under her head, laid her feet easily on the couch, and covered them with a wrap.  Polybius feasted his eyes on the fair sleeper; and, indeed, nothing purer and more tender can be imagined than the girl’s face as she lay in dreamless slumber.

The conversation was now carried on in subdued tones, so as not to disturb her, and Andreas completed the history of the day by informing them that Melissa had, by mistake, engaged the assistance not of the great Galen but of another Roman practiced in the healing art, but of less illustrious proficiency.  He must, therefore, still have Diodoros conveyed to the Serapeum, and this could be done very easily in the morning, before the populace should again besiege the temple.  He must forthwith go back to make the necessary arrangements.  Praxilla whispered tenderly: 

“Devoted man that you are, you do not even get your night’s rest.”  But Andreas turned away to discuss some further matters with Polybius; and, in spite of pain, the old man could express his views clearly and intelligently.