IN the history I relate, the events are crowded and rapid as those of
the drama. I write of an epoch in which days sufficed to ripen the
ordinary fruits of years.

Meanwhile, Arbaces had not of late much frequented the house of Ione;
and when he had visited her he had not encountered Glaucus, nor knew he,
as yet, of that love which had so suddenly sprung up between himself and
his designs. In his interest for the brother of Ione, he had been
forced, too, a little while, to suspend his interest in Ione herself.
His pride and his selfishness were aroused and alarmed at the sudden
change which had come over the spirit of the youth. He trembled lest he
himself should lose a docile pupil, and Isis an enthusiastic servant.
Apaecides had ceased to seek or to consult him. He was rarely to be
found; he turned sullenly from the Egyptian--nay, he fled when he
perceived him in the distance. Arbaces was one of those haughty and
powerful spirits accustomed to master others; he chafed at the notion
that one once his own should ever elude his grasp. He swore inly that
Apaecides should not escape him.

It was with this resolution that he passed through a thick grove in the
city, which lay between his house and that of Ione, in his way to the
latter; and there, leaning against a tree, and gazing on the ground, he
came unawares on the young priest of Isis.

'Apaecides!' said he--and he laid his hand affectionately on the young
man's shoulder.

The priest started; and his first instinct seemed to be that of flight.
'My son,' said the Egyptian, 'what has chanced that you desire to shun
me?'