whenever anything stirred his aged soul.

The dog, which Hermon had owned only a few months, continued to bark; but
above his hostile baying the blind man thought he recognised a name at
whose sound the blood surged hotly into his cheeks. Yet he could
scarcely have heard aright!

Still he sprang from the couch, groped his way to the door, opened it,
and entered the impluvium that adjoined his bedroom. The cool night air
blew upon him from the open ceiling. A strong draught showed that the
door leading from the atrium was being opened, and now a shout, half
choked by weeping, greeted him: "Hermon! My clear, my poor beloved
master!"

"Bias, faithful Bias!" fell from the blind man's lips, and when he felt
the returned slave sink down before him, cover his hand with kisses and
wet it with tears, he raised him in his strong arms, clasped him in a
warm embrace, kissed his checks, and gasped, "And Myrtilus, my Myrtilus,
is he alive?"

"Yes, yes, yes," sobbed Bias. "But you, my lord-blind, blind! Can it be
true?"

When Hermon released him to inquire again about his friend, Bias
stammered: "He isn't faring so badly; but you, you, bereft of light and
also of the joy of seeing your faithful Bias again! And the immortals
prolong one's years to experience such evils! Two griefs always belong
to one joy, like two horses to a chariot."

"My wise Bias! Just as you were of old!" cried Hermon in joyful