the heart. From the first moment you spoke, I have felt this mysterious
power. It is as if some superior being led me back, even against my
will, to the days of my childhood, when I gathered acorns from the
ancient oak that shadows the fountain of Byblis, or ran about on the
banks of my own beloved Meander, filling my robe with flowers."

There was silence for a moment. Eudora smiled through her tears, as she
whispered, "Now, Philothea, sing that sweet song Anaxagoras taught you.
He too is of Ionia; and Aspasia will love to hear it."

The maiden answered with a gentle smile, and began to warble the first
notes of a simple bird-like song.

"Hush!" said Aspasia, putting her hand on Philothea's mouth, and
bursting into tears--"It was the first tune I ever learned; and I have
not heard it since my mother sung it to me."

"Then let me sing it, lady," rejoined Philothea: "It is good for us to
keep near our childhood. In leaving it, we wander from the gods."

A slight tap at the door made Aspasia start up suddenly; and stooping
over the alabaster vase of water, she hastened to remove all traces of
her tears.

As Eudora opened the door, a Byzantian slave bowed low, and waited
permission to speak.

"Your message?" said Aspasia, with queenly brevity.

"If it please you, lady, my master bids me say he desires your