people in Messina haven't forgotten poor me either, for I heard whispers
about a robe such as matrons wear. It is--it might be--well, we shall
see."

Tittering, and almost embarrassed, she fixed her eyes upon the ground,
reminded Xanthe once more to have her called as soon as the ship from
Messina appeared, and then, leaning on her myrtle-staff, tottered up the
path leading to the temple of the goddess.

Xanthe did not go directly down to the sea, but approached her uncle's
house to seek Phaon with her eyes.

As she could not see him, either in the stables, or the walk lined with
fig-trees trained upon espaliers beside the house, she turned quickly
away, repressing out of pride her desire to call him.

On her way to the sea she met her uncle's high-shouldered slave. Xanthe
stopped and questioned him.

Semestre had told no lie. Phaon had not yet returned from a nocturnal
excursion, and for several days had not reached home until just before
sunrise.

No, he was not the man to offer support to her sick father. He was
looking for a wealthy heiress, and forgot his relatives for the sake of
dissolute young men and worthless wenches.

This thought hurt her sorely, so sorely that she wanted to weep as she
had done by the spring.