Had his mind been darkened with his eyes, that this thought came to him
now for the first time, that he had not sent messengers to all quarters
of the globe to find some trace of the assailants and, with them, of the
lost man?

Perhaps it was Ledscha who had him in her power, and, while he
was pondering and forming plans for the best way of conducting
investigations, the dimmed image of the Biamite again returned distinctly
to his mind, and with it that of Arachne and the spider, into which the
goddess transformed the weaver.

Half overcome by sleep, he saw himself, staff in hand, led by Daphne,
cross green meadows and deserts, valleys and mountains, to seek his
friend; yet whenever he fancied he caught sight of him, and Ledscha with
him, in the distance, the spider descended from above and, with magical
speed, wove a net which concealed both from his gaze.

Groaning and deeply disturbed, half awake, he struggled onward, always
toward one goal, to find his Myrtilus again, when suddenly the sound of
the knocker on the entrance door and the barking of Lycas, his Arabian
greyhound, shook the house.

Recalled to waking life, he started up and listened.

Had the men who were to arrest him or inquisitive visitors not allowed
themselves to be deterred even by the late hour?

He listened angrily as the old porter sternly accosted the late guest;
but, directly after, the gray-haired native of the region near the First
Cataract burst into the strange Nubian oaths which he lavished liberally