self-control and finding fresh food for his wrath.

However, he had in fact no choice, for the patriarch just now came out of
the fountain-hall into the viridarium. The old man's tall figure was not
bent, his snowy hair flowed in abundance round his proud head, and a
white beard fell in soft waves far down his breast. His fine eyes rested
on the young man with a keen glance, and though he had last seen Orion as
a boy he recognized him at once as the master of the house. While Orion
bowed low before him, the patriarch, in his deep, rich voice, addressed
him with cheerful dignity.

"All hail, son of my never-to-be-forgotten friend! The child I remember,
has, I see, grown to a fine man. I have devoted a short time to the
mother, and now I must say what is needful to the son."

"In my father's study," Orion said to the steward; and he led the way
with the ceremonious politeness of a chamberlain of the imperial court.

The patriarch, as he followed him, signed to his escort to remain behind,
and as soon as the door was closed upon them, he went up to Orion and
exclaimed: "Again I greet you! This, then, is the descendant of the
great Menas, the son of Mukaukas George, the adored ruler of my flock
at Memphis, who held the first place among the gilded youth of
Constantinople in their gay whirl! A strange achievement for an Egyptian
and a Christian! But first of all, child, first give me your hand!"
He held out his right hand and Orion accepted it, but not without
reserve, for he had suspected a scornful ring in the patriarch's address,
and he could not help asking himself whether this man honestly meant so
well by him, that he could address him thus paternally as "child" in all
sincerity of heart? To refuse his hand was, however, impossible; still,