temple, recipes, records of gifts, and documents referring to the history
of the sanctuary.

In this deserted, shady spot, between these thick marble walls, it was
much cooler than outside. Melissa lifted her hands in prayer before the
statue of the god. She was alone, with the exception of the priest in
charge. The temple-servant was absent, and the priest was asleep,
breathing heavily, in an arm-chair in a dark nook behind the marble
group. Thus she was free to follow the impulse of her heart, and pray,
first for her sick lover, and then for the sufferer to whom the whole
subservient world belonged.

For Diodoros, indeed, as she knew, other hands and hearts were uplifted
in loving sympathy. But who besides herself was praying for the hated
sovereign who had at his command the costliest and rarest gifts of
fortune, all poisoned by bitter anguish of mind and body? The world
thought only of the sufferings he had inflicted on others; no one dreamed
of the pangs he had to endure--no one but herself, to whom Galenus had
spoken of them. And had not his features and his look betrayed to her
that pain was gnawing at his vitals like the vulture at those of
Prometheus? Hapless, pitiable youth, born to the highest fortune, and
now a decrepit old man in the flower of his age! To pray and sacrifice
for him must be a pious deed, pleasing to the gods. Melissa besought the
marble images over the altar from the very bottom of her heart, never
even asking herself why she was bestowing on this stranger, this cruel
tryant, in whose name her own brother was in danger of the law, an
emotion which nothing but her care for those dearest to her had ever
stirred. But she did not feel that he was a stranger, and never thought
how far apart they were. Her prayers came easily, too, in this spot;
the bonds that linked her to these beautiful marble beings were familiar