Barine's hair was covered, it is true, but at any other time the hideous
creatures, which often brushed against her head and arms, would have
filled her with horror and loathing. Now she scarcely heeded them; her
eyes were fixed on the recumbent figure in the bearers' arms, the man to
whom she belonged, body and soul, and whose patient suffering pierced her
inmost heart. His head rested on the breast of Gorgias, who walked
directly in front of her; the architect's stooping posture concealed his
face, but his feet were visible and, whenever they twitched, she fancied
he was in pain. Then she longed to press forward to his side, wipe the
perspiration from his brow in the hot, low corridor, and whisper words of
love and encouragement.

This she was sometimes permitted to do when the friends put down their
heavy burden. True, they allowed themselves only brief intervals of
rest, but they were long enough to show her how the sufferer's strength
was failing. When they at last reached their destination, Philotas was
forced to exert all his strength to support the exhausted man, while
Gorgias cautiously opened the door. It led to a flight of sea-washed
steps close to the garden of Didymus, which as a child she had often used
with her brother to float a little boat upon the water.

The architect opened the door only a short distance; he was expected,
for Barine soon heard him whisper, and suddenly the door was flung wide.
A tall man raised Dion and bore him into the open air. While she was
still gazing after him, a second figure of equal size approached her and,
hastily begging her permission, lifted her in his arms like a child, and
as she inhaled the cool night air and felt the water through which her
bearer waded splash up and wet her feet, her eyes sought her new-made
husband--but in vain; the night was very dark, and the lights on the