CHAPTER XIV.

Dido was right. Heron's eldest son had returned from his errand. Tired,
disappointed, and with fierce indignation in his eyes, he staggered in
like a drunken man who has been insulted in his cups; and, without
greeting her--as his mother had taught her children to greet even their
slaves--he merely asked in hoarse tones, "Is Melissa come in?"

"Yes, yes," replied Dido, laying her finger to her lips. "You roused her
from a nap. And what a state you are in! You must not let her see you
so! It is very clear what news you bring. The prefect will not
help us?"

"Help us!" echoed Philip, wrathfully. "In Alexandria a man may drown
rather than another will risk wetting his feet."

"Nay, it is not so bad as that," said the old woman. "Alexander himself
has burned his fingers for others many a time. Wait a minute. I will
fetch you a draught of wine. There is some still in the kitchen; for if
you appear before your sister in that plight--"

But Melissa had recognized her brother's voice, and, although Philip had
smoothed his hair a little with his hands, one glance at his face showed
her that his efforts had been vain.

"Poor boy!" she said, when, in answer to her question as to what his news
was, he had answered gloomily, "As bad as possible."

She took his hand and led him into the work-room. There she reminded him