beloved dead might be, he desired to go there also. Whatever might await
him, he desired no better fate. If he had passed into annihilation, he,
Hermon, wished to follow him thither, and annihilation certainly meant
redemption from pain and misery. But if he were destined to meet his
Myrtilus and his mother in the world beyond the grave, what had he not to
tell them, how sure he was of finding a joyful reception there from both!
The power which delivered him over to death just at that moment was not
Nemesis--no, it was a kindly deity.

Only his heart grew heavy at the thought of leaving Daphne to the
tireless wooer Philotas or some other--everything else from which it is
usually hard to part seemed like a burden that we gladly cast aside.

"Forward!" he called blithely and boldly to the officer; while Crates,
with loud lamentations, was protesting his innocence to the warrior who
was putting fetters upon him.

A chain was just being clasped around Hermon's wrists also when he
suddenly started. His keen ear could not deceive him, and yet a demon
must be mocking him, for the voice that had called his name was the
girl's of whom, in the presence of welcome death, he had thought with
longing regret.

Yet it was no illusion that deceived him. Again he heard the beloved
voice, and this time it addressed not only him, but with the utmost haste
the commander of the soldiers.

Sometimes with touching entreaty, sometimes with imperious command, she
protested, after giving him her name, that this matter could be nothing
but an unfortunate mistake. Lastly, with earnest warmth, she besought