"Very well.--Come here, maiden," he beckoned to Melissa, and went on loud
enough for the deaconess to hear: "If we can get your betrothed to the
Serapeum early to-morrow, he may probably be cured; otherwise I refuse to
be responsible. Tell your friends and his that I will be here before
sunrise to-morrow, and that they must provide a covered litter and good
bearers."

He then turned to the deaconess, who had followed him in silence, with
her hands clasped like a deserter, laid his broad, square hand on her
shoulder, and added:

"So it must be, Widow Katharine, Love endures and suffers all things, and
to save a neighbor's life, it is well to suffer in silence even things
that displease us. I will explain it all to you afterwards. Quiet, only
perfect quiet--No melancholy leave-taking, child! The sooner you are out
of the house the better."

He went back again to the bed, laid his hand for a moment on the sick
man's forehead, and then left the room.

Diodoros lay still and indifferent on the couch. Melissa kissed him on
the brow, and withdrew without his observing it, her eyes full of tears.