rarely felt so uplifted as now. He most ardently longed for his next
meeting with Barine, and imagined how he would describe what had happened
and claim her gratitude for his friendly service. The scene had risen
clearly before his mind, but scarcely had the radiant vision of the
future faded when the unusually bright expression of his manly face was
clouded by a grave and troubled one.

The darkness of the night, illumined only by the flare of the pitch-pans,
had surrounded him, yet it had seemed as if he were standing with Barine
in the full light of noon in the blossoming garden of his own palace,
and, after asking a reward for his sturdy championship, she had clung
to him with deep emotion, and he had passionately kissed her tearful
face.

The face had quickly vanished, yet it had been as distinct as the most
vivid picture in a dream. Was Barine more to him than he supposed? Had
he not been drawn to her, during the past few months, by the mere charm
of her pliant intellect and her bright beauty? Had a new, strong passion
awakened within him? Was he in danger of seeing the will which urged him
to preserve his freedom conquered? Had he cause to fear that some day,
constrained by a mysterious, invincible power, in defiance of the
opposition of calm reason, he might perhaps bind himself for life to this
Barine, the woman who had once been the wife of a Philostratus, and who
bestowed her smiles on all who found admittance to her house seeking a
feast for the eye, a banquet for the ear, a pleasant entertainment?

Though her honor was as stainless as the breast of a swan--and he had no
reason to doubt it--she would still be classed with Aspasia and other
women whose guests sought more than songs and agreeable conversations.
The gifts with which the gods had so lavishly endowed her had already