oking up to discover the hour from the stars which were
silently pursuing their everlasting courses in countless thousands, and
sparkling with extraordinary brilliancy in the deep blue sky. The moon
was already set, and the morning-star was slowly rising--every night
since the Roman had been in the land of the Pyramids he had admired its
magnificent size and brightness.

A cold breeze fanned the young man's brow, and as he drew his robe across
his breast with a shiver, he thought of the sisters, who, before long,
would have to go out in the fresh morning air. Once more he raised his
eyes from the earth to the firmament over his head, and it seemed to him
that he saw before his very eyes the proud form of Klea, enveloped in a
mantle sown over with stars. His heart throbbed high, and he felt as if
the breeze that his heaving breast inhaled in deep breaths was as fresh
and pure as the ether that floats over Elysium, and of a strange potency
withal, as if too rare to breathe. Still he fancied he saw before him the
image of Klea, but as he stretched out his hand towards the beautiful
vision it vanished--a sound of hoofs and wheels fell upon his ear.
Publius was not accustomed to abandon himself to dreaming when action was
needed, and this reminded him of the purpose for which he had come out
into the open air. Chariot after chariot came driving past as he returned
into his tent. Lysias, who during his absence had been pacing up and down
and reflecting, met him with the question:

"How long is it yet till sunrise?"

"Hardly two hours," replied the Roman. "And we must make good use of them
if we would not arrive too late."

"So I think too," said the Corinthian. "The sisters will soon be at the
Well of the Sun outside the temple walls, and I will persuade Irene to
follow me. You think I shall not be successful? Nor do I myself--but
still perhaps she will if I promise to show her something very pretty,
and if she does not suspect that she is to be parted from her sister, for
she is like a child."

"But Klea," interrupted Publius thoughtfully, "is grave and prudent; and
the light tone which you are so ready to adopt will be very little to her
taste, Consider that, and dare the attempt--no, you dare not deceive her.
Tell her the whole truth, out of Irene's hearing, with the gravity the
matter deserves, and she will not hinder her sister when she knows how
great and how imminent is the danger that threatens her."

"Good!" sa