When Philip had hastily explained that Zminis had imprisoned his father,
the old man started to his feet with a promptitude to which his majestic
person was unaccustomed, and pointed to a curtained doorway on one side
of the room.

"Through that door," he whispered, "you will reach the western steps, and
the passage leading out of the precincts to the stadium. You are known
to the Romans in the anteroom. It is not the god to whom this building
is dedicated who now rules within these walls. Your brother's rash words
are repeated everywhere, and have even come to Caesar's knowledge; and he
has been told that it was the same traitor--who has for the moment
escaped Zminis and his men--who nailed a rope on one of our doors, and
with it an audacious inscription. To speak a single word in behalf of
Alexander or your father would be to fling myself into the fire without
putting it out. You do not know how fiercely it is burning. Theocritus
is feeding the flame, for he needs it to destroy the prefect. Now, not
another word; and, come what may, so long as the Roman visitors dwell
under this roof, beware of it!"

And the high-priest opened the door with his own hand.

"I hurried home," Philip added, "and if I forgot, in my dismay at this
fresh disaster, to warn Glaukias to be careful--But, no, no! It is
unpardonable!--Alexander is by this time crossing the lake, perhaps.
I am like Caracalla--my brother's murderer!"

But Melissa laid her arm on his shoulder and besought the poor fellow to
be comforted; and her loving words of excuse seemed to have some good
effect. But why was he always so reserved? Why could not Philip be as
frank with her as Alexander was? She had never been very near to him;