ight certainly demand any compensation he chose. But when Papias
interrupted him again and again, and obstinately insisted on the
immediate restoration of his property, the artist whose blood was easily
heated, grew angry and replied to the attacks and questions of the older
man with vehement response.

One angry word led to another, and at last Papias hinted of persons who
took possession of other person's silver goods, and when Pollux retorted
that he knew of some who could put forward the works of others as their
own, the master struck his fist upon the table, and going towards the
door he cried out, as soon as he was at a safe distance from the furious
lad's powerful fists:

"Thief! I will show you how fellows like you are dealt with in
Alexandria."

Pollux turned white with rage, and rushed upon Papias, who fled, and
before Pollux could reach him he had taken refuge behind the two guards
sent by the magistrate, and who were waiting in the antechamber.

"Seize the thief!" he cried. "Hold the villain who stole my silver quiver
and now raises his hand against his master. Bind him, fetter him, carry
him off to prison."

Pollux did not know what had come upon him; he stood like a bear that has
been surrounded by hunters; doubtful but at bay. Should he fling himself
upon his pursuers and fell them to the earth? should he passively await
impending fate?

He knew every stone in his master's house; the anteroom in which he
stood, and indeed the whole building was on the ground floor. In the
minute while the guards were approaching and his master was giving the
order to the lictor, his eye fell on a window which looked out upon the
street, and possessed only by the single thought of defending his liberty
and returning quickly to Arsinoe he leaped out of the opening which
promised safety and into the street below.

"Thief--stop thief!" he heard as he flew on with long strides; and like
the pelting of rain driven by all the four winds came from all sides the
senseless, odious, horrible cry: "Stop thief!--stop thief!" it seemed to
deprive him of his senses.

But the passionate cry of his heart: "To Lochias, to Arsinoe! keep free,
save your liberty if only to be of use at Lochias!" drowned the shouts of
his pursuers and urged him through the streets that led to the old
palace,

On he went faster and farther, each step a leap; the briny breeze from
the sea already fanned his glowing cheeks and the narrow empty street