is face, and make it
difficult to recognize him. Whence he had procured this garment was not
hard to divine, for imperial servants had distributed them in numbers
among the crowd. Caesar was anxious to bring them into fashion, and it
might safely be expected that those Alexandrians who had held out their
hands to accept them would appear in them on the morrow, as no order
required that they should be worn. Alexander could not do better than
wear one, if only by such means he could escape Zminis and his men.

But who were the women he was pursuing? Before Melissa could ask the
question, Andreas pointed to the foremost boat, and said:

"Those are Christian women, and the bark they are in belongs to Zeno,
the brother of Seleukus and of the high-priest of Serapis. That is his
landing-creek. He lives with his family, and those of the faith to whom
he affords refuge, in the long, white house you can just see there among
the palm-trees. Those vineyards, too, are his. If I am not mistaken, one
of the ladies in that boat is his daughter, Agatha."

"But what can Alexander want of two Christian women?" asked Melissa.

Andreas fired up, and a vein started on his high forehead as he retorted
angrily:

"What should he not want! He and those who are like him--the
blind--think nothing so precious as what satisfies the eye.--There! the
brightness has vanished which turned the lake and the shore to gold.
Such is beauty!--a vain show, which only glitters to disappear, and is
to fools, nevertheless, the supreme object of adoration!"

"Then, is Zeno's daughter fair?" asked the girl.

"She is said to be," replied the other; and after a moment's pause he
added: "Yes, Agatha is a rarely accomplished woman; but I know better
things of her than that. It stirs my gall to think that her sacred
purity can arouse unholy thoughts. I love your brother dearly; for
your mother's sake I can forgive him much; but if he tries to ensnare
Agatha--"

"Have no fear," said Melissa, interrupting his wrathful speech.
"Alexander is indeed a butterfly, fluttering from flower to flower,
and apt to be frivolous over serious matters, but at this moment he
is enslaved by a vision--that of a dead girl; and only last night, I
believe, he pledged himself to Ino, the pretty daughter of our neighbor
Skopas. Beauty is to him the highest thing in life; and how should it be
otherwise, for he is an artist! For the sake of beauty he defies
every danger. If you saw right