Ione, with a small party of chosen friends, were returning from an
excursion round the bay; their vessel skimmed lightly over the twilight
waters, whose lucid mirror was only broken by the dripping oars. As the
rest of the party conversed gaily with each other, Glaucus lay at the
feet of Ione, and he would have looked up in her face, but he did not
dare. Ione broke the pause between them.

'My poor brother,' said she, sighing, 'how once he would have enjoyed
this hour!'

'Your brother!' said Glaucus; 'I have not seen him. Occupied with you,
I have thought of nothing else, or I should have asked if that was not
your brother for whose companionship you left me at the Temple of
Minerva, in Neapolis?'

'It was.'

'And is he here?'

'He is.

'At Pompeii! and not constantly with you? Impossible!'

'He has other duties,' answered Ione, sadly; 'he is a priest of Isis.'

'So young, too; and that priesthood, in its laws at least, so severe!'
said the warm and bright-hearted Greek, in surprise and pity. 'What
could have been his inducement?'

'He was always enthusiastic and fervent in religious devotion: and the