"In truth, I asked too much. One who attracts so many men of all ages
can scarcely be expected to know the abode of each individual."

"The heart has a faithful memory," replied the Syrian in a tone of
correction, but Iras echoed, contemptuously, "The heart!"

Then all were silent until, instead of the doorkeeper, Berenike herself
came hurrying in, bringing the cloak. With pallid face and bloodless
lips she wrapped it around her daughter's shoulders, whispering, amid
floods of tears, almost inaudible words of love and encouragement, which
Iras interrupted by requesting Barine to follow her to the carriage.

The mother and daughter embraced and kissed each other, then the closed
equipage bore the persecuted woman through the storm and darkness to
Lochias.

Not a word was exchanged between Barine and the Queen's messengers until
they reached the room where the former was to await Cleopatra; but here
Iras again endeavoured to induce her to speak. At the first question,
however, Barine answered that she had no information to give.

The room was as bright as if it were noonday, though the lights flickered
constantly, for the wind found its way through the thin shutters closing
the windows on both sides of the corner room, and a strong, cold draught
swept in. Barine wrapped her cloak more closely around her; the storm
which howled about the sea-washed palace harmonized with the vehement
agitation of her soul. Whether she had looked within or without, there
was nothing which could have soothed her save the assurance of being
loved--an assurance that held fear at bay. Now, indignation prevented