regular
breathing, and she lay there, a picture of innocence, of peace, smiling
in dreams, and of the slumber that the gods bestow on early youth, when
care has not yet come.

Softly and carefully, crossing the thick carpets on tiptoe, the
grey-haired woman approached, looked with unutterable tenderness into the
smiling, childish face, and, kneeling down silently by the side of the
bed, buried her face in its soft coverings, so that the girl's hand just
came in contact with her hair. Then she wept, and without intermission;
as though she hoped with this flood of tears to wash away not only her
recent humiliation, but with it all other sorrow from her mind.

At length she rose, breathed a light kiss on the sleeping girl's
forehead, raised her hands in prayer towards heaven, and returned to her
own room, gently and carefully as she had come.

At her own bedside she found the old slave-woman, still waiting for her.

"What do you want so late, Melitta?" said Rhodopis, kindly, under her
breath. "Go to bed; at your age it is not good to remain up late, and you
know that I do not require you any longer. Good night! and do not come
to-morrow until I send for you. I shall not be able to sleep much
to-night, and shall be thankful if the morning brings me a short repose."

The woman hesitated; it seemed that she had some thing on her mind which
she feared to utter.

"There is something you want to ask me?" said Rhodopis.

Still the old slave hesitated.

"Speak!" said Rhodopis, "speak at once, and quickly."

"I saw you weeping," said the slave-woman, "you seem ill or sad; let me
watch this night by your bedside. Will you not tell me what ails you? You
have often found that to tell a sorrow lightens the heart and lessens the
pain. Then tell me your grief to-day too; it will do you good, it will
bring back peace to your mind."

"No," answered the other, "I cannot utter it." And then she continued,
smiling bitterly: "I have once more experienced that no one, not even a
god, has power to cancel the past of any human being, and that, in this
world, misfortune and disgrace are one and the same. Good night, leave
me; Melitta!"

At noon on the following day, the same boat, which, the evening before,
had carried the Athenian and the Spartan, stopped once more before
Rhodopis' garden.

The sun was shining so brightly, so warmly and genially in the dark blue
Egyptian sky, the air was so pure and light, the beetles were humming