this ship were not so drunk, thou wouldest have little time to talk!
Thinkest thou I care nothing for my head? Hasten! Wake him, if thou
wilt, but hasten! Thinkest thou the petty coin thou gavest me will
pay me for my head? Hasten! They think I am guarding these prisoners
safely."

"Small time wilt thou spend guarding them, if thou knowest where
aught is to drink!" responded Athribis sarcastically. "How much hast
thou drank today?"

The wearied Timokles slumbered on, regardless of the light and
talking.

Back in the dark, Heraklas clasped his hands. A mighty sob rose in
his throat. The Christian was indeed Timokles! How worn he was! And
that brand upon his cheek!

Athribis bent forward. Timokles' eyes were opening.

"Athribis!" exclaimed Timokles faintly, as, after a prolonged gaze,
he recognized the slave.

"Ah, my Christian master! My Christian master!" jeered Athribis, "I
see you once again. My Christian master!"

The hands of the unseen Heraklas clinched at that tone.

Timokles looked around, bewildered. A quiver passed over his lips.
Athribis reminded him of home.