mistaken. On her knees, by the side of her lover as he lay on the
ground, she stared up at the apparitions. A stone flew at the dog to
scare him off, and a second, larger than the first, whisked past her and
hit Diodoros on the head; she heard the dull blow. At this a cold hand
seemed to clutch her heart; everything about her melted into one
whirling, colorless cloud. Pale as death, she threw up her arms to
protect herself, and then, overcome with terror and fatigue, with a
faint cry of anguish she lost consciousness.

When she opened her eyes again her head was resting in the lap of a kind,
motherly woman, while some men were just bearing away the senseless form
of Diodoros on a bier.




CHAPTER VI.

The sun had risen an hour since. Heron had betaken himself to his
workshop, whistling as he went, and in the kitchen his old slave Argutis
was standing over the hearth preparing his master's morning meal. He
dropped a pinch of dill into the barley-porridge, and shook his gray head
solemnly.

His companion Dido, a Syrian, whose wavy white hair contrasted strangely
with her dark skin, presently came in, and, starting up, he hastily
inquired, "Not in yet?"

"No," said the other woman, whose eyes were full of tears. "And you know
what my dream was. Some evil has come to her, I am certain; and when