pistle to Caesar, which Melissa was composing,
should reach his hands on the morrow.

He could now receive his letter of freedom with gladness, and consented
to dress up in Heron's garments; for, as a slave, he would have been
forbidden to conclude a bargain with a ship's captain or any one else.

All this was done in hot haste, for Caesar was awaiting Alexander, and
Euryale expected Melissa. The ready zeal of the old man, free for the
first time to act on his own responsibility in matters which would
have been too much for many a free-born man, but to which he felt quite
equal, had an encouraging effect even on the oppressed hearts of the
other two. They knew now that, even if death should be their lot,
Argutis would be faithful to their father and sick brother, and the
slave at once showed his ingenuity and shrewdness; for, while the young
people were vainly trying to think of a hiding-place for Heron and
Philip, he suggested a spot which would hardly be discovered even by the
sharpest spies.

Glaukias, the sculptor, who had already fled, was Heron's tenant. His
work-room, a barn-like structure, stood in the little vegetable-garden
which the gem-cutter had inherited from his father-in-law, and none but
Heron and the slave knew that, under the flooring, instead of a
cellar, there was a vast reservoir connected with the ancient aqueducts
constructed by Vespasian. Many years since Argutis had helped his master
to construct a trap-door to the entrance to these underground passages,
of which the existence had remained unknown even to Glaukias during all
the years he had inhabited the place. It was here that Heron kept his
gold, not taking his children even into his confidence; and only a
few months ago Argutis had been down with him and had found the old
reservoir dry, airy, and quite habitable. The gem-cutter would be quite
content to conceal himself where his treasure was, and the garden and
work-room were only distant a few hundred paces from his own home.
To get Philip there without being seen was to Argutis a mere trifle.
Alexander, too, old Dido, and, if needful, Diodoros, could all be
concealed there. But for Melissa, neither he nor Alexander thought it
sufficiently secure.

As she took leave of him the young girl once more charged the newly
freed man to greet her father from her a thousand times, to beseech
his forgiveness of her for the bitter grief she must cause him, and to
assure him of her affection.

"T