art had formerly repelled him, and Hermon tried to let it produce this
effect upon him. But it would not do; he was continually overpowered by
the feeling that under the enthusiastic homage of the intriguing Queen
Arsinoe's favourite lurked a sting which he should some day feel. Or
could Proclus have been persuaded by Thyone and Daphne to help them
reconcile the hapless blind man to his hard fate?

Hermon's every movement betrayed the great anxiety which filled his mind,
and it by no means escaped Proclus's attention, but he attributed it to
the blinded sculptor's anguish in being prevented, after so great a
success, from pursuing his art further.

Sincerely touched, he laid his slender hand on the sufferer's muscular
arm, saying: "A more severe trial than yours, my young friend, can
scarcely be imposed upon the artist who has just attained the highest
goal, but three things warrant you to hope for recovery--your vigorous
youth, the skill of our Alexandrian leeches, and the favour of the
immortal gods. You shrug your shoulders? Yet I insist that you have won
this favour by your Demeter. True, you owe it less to yourself than to
yonder maiden. What pleasure it affords one whom, like myself, taste and
office bind to the arts, to perceive such a revolution in an artist's
course of creation, and trace it to its source! I indulged myself in it
and, if you will listen, I should like to show you the result."

"Speak," replied Hermon dully, bowing his head as if submitting to the
inevitable, while Proclus began:

"Hitherto your art imitated, not without success, what your eyes showed
you, and if this was filled with the warm breath of life, your work
succeeded. All respect to your Boy Eating Figs, in whose presence you