terror in your great eyes. I swear to you that, as a man and an artist,
I never felt better, and so I ought properly to be in my usual frame of
mind. But the skeleton at life's festival has been shown to me. What
sort of thing is that? It is an image--the image of a dead man which
was carried round by the Egyptians, and is to this day by the Romans, to
remind the feasters that they should fill every hour with enjoyment,
since enjoyment is all too soon at an end. Such an image, child--"

"You are thinking of the dead girl--Seleukus's daughter--whose portrait
you are painting?" asked Melissa.

Alexander nodded, sat down on the bench by his sister, and, taking up her
needlework, exclaimed "Give us some light, child. I want to see your
pretty face. I want to be sure that Diodorus did not perjure himself
when, at the 'Crane,' the other day, he swore that it had not its match
in Alexandria. Besides, I hate the darkness."

When Melissa returned with the lighted lamp, she found her brother, who
was not wont to keep still, sitting in the place where she had left him.
But he sprang up as she entered, and prevented her further greeting by
exclaiming:

"Patience! patience! You shall be told all. Only I did not want to
worry you on the day of the festival of the dead. And besides, to-morrow
perhaps he will be in a better frame of mind, and next day--"

Melissa became urgent. "If Philip is ill--" she put in.

"Not exactly ill," said he. "He has no fever, no ague-fit, no aches and
pains. He is not in bed, and has no bitter draughts to swallow. Yet is