t good reason she will be
angered against those whom duty and love should have commanded to guard
the boy!"

"And therefore," added Dion, "the stone of offence must be removed. Your
first step to secure this object was the attack on Didymus."

He had judged correctly and perceived that, in her assault upon the old
scholar, she had at first intended to play into the hands of the rulers,
work against the old philosopher and his relatives, among whose number
was Barine; for the Egyptian law permitted the relatives of those who
were convicted of any crime against the sovereign or the government to be
banished with the criminal. This attack upon an innocent person was
disgraceful, yet every word Iras uttered made Dion feel, every feature of
her face betrayed, that it was not merely base jealousy, but a nobler
emotion, that caused her to assail the guiltless sage--love for her
mistress, the desire which dominated her whole being to guard Cleopatra
from grief and trouble in these trying times. He knew Iras's iron will
and the want of consideration with which she had learned to pursue her
purpose at the court. His first object was to protect Barine from the
danger which threatened her; but he also wished to relieve the anxiety of
Iras, the daughter of Krates, his father's neighbour, with whom he had
played in boyhood and for whom he had never ceased to feel a tender
interest.

His remark surprised her. She saw that her plot was detected by the man
whose esteem she most valued, and a loving woman is glad to recognize the
superiority of her lover. Besides, from her earliest childhood--and she
was only two years younger than Dion--she had belonged to circles where
no quality was more highly prized than mental pliancy and keenness. Her
dark eyes, which at first had glittered distrustfully and questioningly
and afterwards glowed with a gloomy light, now gained a new expression.
Her gaze sought her friend's with a tender, pleading look as, admitting
his charge, she began: "Yes! Dion, the philosopher's granddaughter must
not stay here. Or do you see any other way to protect the unhappy boy
from incalculable misfortune? You know me well enough to be aware that,
like you, I am reluctant to infringe another's rights, that except in
case of necessity I am not cruel. I value your esteem. No one is more
truthful, and yesterday you averred that Eros had no part in your visits
to the much-admired young woman, that you joined her guests mere