an house, to think of leading her, as mistress, to the palace
whose erection he had so carefully and successfully planned with Gorgias.

Surely it lacked nothing save the gracious rule of a mistress.

But if she should consent to become his without the blessing of Hymen?
No.

He could not thus dishonor the granddaughter of Didymus, the man who had
been his father's revered teacher, a woman whom he had always rejoiced
that, spite of the gay freedom with which she received so many admirers,
he could still esteem. He would not do so, though his friends would have
greeted such scruples with a smile of superiority. Who revered the
sacredness of marriage in a city whose queen was openly living for the
second time with the husband of another? Dion himself had formed many a
brief connection, but for that very reason he could not place a woman
like Barine on the same footing with those whose love he had perhaps owed
solely to his wealth. He had never lacked courage and resolution, but he
felt that this time he would have to resist a power with which he had
never coped.

That accursed face! Again and again it rose before his mental vision,
smiling and beckoning so sweetly that the day must come when the yearning
to realize the dream would conquer all opposition. If he remained near
her he would inevitably do what he might afterwards regret, and therefore
he would fain have offered a sacrifice to Peitho to induce her to enhance
Archibius's powers of persuasion and induce Barine to leave Alexandria.
It would be hard for him to part from her, yet much would be gained if
she went into the country. Between the present and the distant period of
a second meeting lay respite from peril, and perhaps the possibility of
victory. Dion did not recognize himself. He seemed as unstable as a
swaying reed, because he had conquered his wish to re-enter old Didymus's
house and encourage him, and passed on to his own home. But he would
probably have found Barine still with her grandfather, and he would not
meet her, though every fibre of his being longed for her face, her voice,
and a word of gratitude from her beloved lips. Instead of joy, he was
filled with the sense of dissatisfaction which overpowers a man standing
at a crossing in the roads, who sees before him three goals, yet can be
fully content with neither.

The Street of the King, along which he suffered himself to be carried by
the excited throng, ran between the sea and the Theatre