ly, he is no doubt in pursuit of Zeno's
daughter, but most likely not to pay court to her, but for some other
season."

"No praiseworthy reason, you may be sure," said Andreas. "Here we are.
Now take your kerchief out of the basket. It is damp and cool after
sundown, especially over there where I am draining the bog. The land
we are reclaiming by this means will bring your future husband a fine
income some day."

They disembarked, and ere long reached the little haven belonging to
Polybius's estate. There were boats moored there, large and small, and
Andreas hailed the man who kept them, and who sat eating his supper, to
ask him whether he had unmoored the green skiff for Alexander.

At this the old fellow laughed, and said: "The jolly painter and his
friend, the sculptor, met Zeno's daughter just as she was getting into
her boat with Mariamne. Down they came, running as if they had gone mad.
The girl must have turned their heads. My lord Alexander would have it
that he had seen the spirit of one who was dead, and he would gladly
give his life to see her once again."

It was now dark, or it would have alarmed Melissa to see the ominous
gravity with which Andreas listened to this tale; but she herself was
sufficiently startled, for she knew her brother well, and that no risk,
however great, would stop him if his artistic fancy were fired. He, whom
she had believed to be in safety, had gone straight into the hands of
the pursuers; and with him caution and reflection were flown to the
winds when passion held sway. She had hoped that her friend Ino had at
last captured the flutterer, and that he would begin to live a settled
life with her, as master of a house of his own; and now, for a
pretty face, he had thrown everything to the winds, even the duty of
self-preservation. Andreas had good reason to be angry, and he spoke no
more till they reached their destination, a country house of handsome
and important aspect.

No father could have received his future daughter more heartily than did
old Polybius. The fiend gout racked his big toes, stabbing, burning, and
nipping them. The slightest movement was torture, and yet he held out
his arms to her for a loving embrace, and, though it made him shut his
eyes and groan, he drew her pretty head down, and kissed her cheeks and
hair. He was now a heavy man, of almost shapeless stoutness, but in
his youth he must have resembled his handsome son. Silvery locks flowed
round his we