pacify the Arab merchant with regard to the mishap that had befallen his
head man under the governor's roof; but with small success.

Finally the young man had indulged his desire to compose a few lines
addressed to the fair Heliodora--for there was no form of physical or
mental effort to which he was not trained. He had not lost the idea that
had occurred to him yesterday before his theft in the tablinum, and to
put it into verse was in his present mood an easy task. He wrote as
follows:

"'Like liketh like' saith the saw; and like to like is but fitting.
Yet, in the hardest of gems thy soft nature rejoices?
Nay, but if noble and rare, if its beauty is priceless,
Then, Heliodora, the stone is like thee--akin to thy beauty.
Thus let this emerald please thee;--and know that the fire
That fills it with light burns more fierce in the heart of thy
Friend."

He penned the lines rapidly; and as he did so he felt, he knew not why,
an excited thrill, as though every word he threw off was a blow aimed at
Paula. Last night he had intended to send the costly jewel to the
handsome widow in a suitable setting; but now it would be madly imprudent
to order such a thing. He must send it away at once; he had hastened to
pack it up with the verses, with his own hand, and entrusted it to
Chusar, a horsedealer's groom from Constantinople, who had brought his
Pannonian steeds to Memphis. He had himself seen off this trustworthy
messenger, who could speak no Egyptian and very little Greek, and when
his horse was lost to sight in the dust of the road leading to Alexandria
he had returned home in a calmer mood. Ships were constantly putting to
sea from that port for Constantinople, and Chusar was enjoined to sail by