have dreamed of comparing her with a brisk little bird.

Once more a poisoned arrow had struck her. Till now she had been wicked
only in her own eyes; now she was wicked in the eyes of another. Paula
knew it was she who had betrayed her. The traitoress had been met by
treachery. The woman she hated had a right to regard her as spiteful and
malignant, and for this she hated her more than ever.

Till now she had nowhere failed to find an affectionate greeting and
welcome; and to-day how coldly she had been repulsed--and not by Paula
alone, but also by Martina, who no doubt had noticed something, and whose
dry reserve had been quite intolerable to the girl.

It was all the old bishop's fault; he had not kept his promise that her
tale-bearing should remain as secret as a confession. Indeed, he must
have deliberately revealed it, for no one but herself knew of the facts.
Perhaps he had even mentioned her name to the Arabs; in that case she
would have to bear witness before the judges, and then in what light
would she appear to Orion, to her mother, to Joanna and Martina?

She had not failed to understand that old Rufinus must have perished in
the expedition, and she was truly grieved. His wife and daughter had
always been kind neighbors to her; and she would not have willingly
brought sorrow on them. If she were called up to give evidence it might
go hard with them, and she wished no harm to any one but those who had
cheated her out of Orion's love. This idea of standing before a court of
justice was the worst of all; this must be warded off at any cost.

Where could Bishop Plotinus be? He had returned to Memphis the day
before, and yet he had not been to see her mother, to whom he usually