abyss.
Since then I seem to see her constantly; at meals, when I am in company,
when I am driving,--and I always hear the warning voice of the angel. And
now I feel it a sacred duty to save her--a creature on whom the Almighty
has lavished every gift he ever bestowed on the daughters of Eve--to lead
her into the path of Salvation."

Demetrius had listened to his brother's enthusiastic speech with growing
anxiety, but he merely shrugged his shoulders and said:

"I almost envy you your acquaintance with this favorite of the gods; but
you might, it seems to me, postpone the work of salvation. You were away
from Alexandria for half a year, and if she could hold out so long as
that . . ."

"Do not speak so; you ought not to speak so!" cried Marcus, pressing his
hand on his heart as though in physical pain. "But I have no time to
lose, for I must at once find out where the old singer has taken her. I
am not so inexperienced as you seem to think. He has brought her here to
trade in her beauty, and enrich himself. Why, you, too, saw her on board
ship; I, as you know, had arranged for them to be taken in at my mother's
Xenodochium."

"Whom?" asked Demetrius folding his hands.

"The singers whom I brought with me from Ostia. And now they have
disappeared from thence, and Dada . . ."

"Dada!" cried Demetrius, bursting into a loud laugh without heeding
Marcus who stepped up to him, crimson with rage. "Dada! that little fair
puss! You see her day and night and an angel calls upon you to save that
child's merry soul? You ought to be ashamed of yourself, boy! Why, what
shall I wager now? I will stake this roll of gold that I could make her
come with me to-morrow--with me, a hard-featured countryman, freckled all
over like a plover's egg, where my clothes do not protect my skin, and
with hair on end like the top of a broom--yes, that she will follow me to
Arsinoe or wherever I choose to bid her. Let the hussy go, you simple
innocent. Such a Soul as hers is of small account even in a less
exclusive Heaven than yours is."

"Take back those words!" cried Marcus, beside himself and clenching his
fist. "But that is just like you! Your impure eyes and heart defile
purity itself, and see spots even in the sun. Nothing is too bad for a
'singing girl,' I know. But that is just the marrow of the matter; it is
from that very curse that I mean to save her. If you can accuse her of
anything, speak; if not, and if you do not want to appear a