arbors and alleys of the embowered gardens seemed to
him easier to breathe than the cool breeze that fanned Cleopatra's raised
roof. He felt the queen's presence to be at once exciting and oppressive,
and in spite of all that was flattering to himself in the advances made
to him by the powerful princess, it was no more gratifying to his taste
than an elegantly prepared dish served on gold plate, which we are forced
to partake of though poison may be hidden in it, and which when at last
we taste it is sickeningly sweet.

Publius was an honest man, and it seemed to him--as to all who resemble
him--that love which was forced upon him was like a decoration of honor
bestowed by a hand which we do not respect, and that we would rather
refuse than accept; or like praise out of all proportion to our merit,
which may indeed delight a fool, but rouses the indignation rather than
the gratitude of a wise man. It struck him too that Cleopatra intended to
make use of him, in the first place as a toy to amuse herself, and then
as a useful instrument or underling, and this so gravely incensed and
discomfited the serious and sensitive young man that he would willingly
have quitted Memphis and Egypt at once and without any leave-taking.
However, it was not quite easy for him to get away, for all his thoughts
of Cleopatra were mixed up with others of Klea, as inseparably as when we
picture to ourselves the shades of night, the tender light of the calm
moon rises too before our fancy.

Having saved Irene, his present desire was to restore her parents to
liberty; to quit Egypt without having seen Klea once more seemed to him
absolutely impossible. He endeavored once more to revive in his mind the
image of her proud tall figure; he felt he must tell her that she was
beautiful, a woman worthy of a king--that he was her friend and hated
injustice, and was ready to sacrifice much for justice's sake and for her
own in the service of her parents and herself. To-day again, before the
banquet, he purposed to go to the temple, and to entreat the recluse to
help him to an interview with his adopted daughter.

If only Klea could know beforehand what he had been doing for Irene and
their parents she must surely let him see that her haughty eyes could
look kindly on him, must offer him her hand in farewell, and then he
should clasp it in both his, and press it to his breast. Then would he
tell her in the warmest and most inspired words he could comman