ile we were in Alexandria,
it attracted me to think in its shade of your never-to-be-forgotten
mother. There I felt her soul near me; for there was her home, and in
imagination I saw her walking and resting under the trees. And you--her
beloved child--you remained aloof from this hallowed spot! Even at the
festival of the dead you omitted prayers and sacrifices?"

The blind artist assented to this question by a silent bend of the head;
but the matron indignantly exclaimed: "And did not you know, unhappy man,
that you were thus casting away the shield which protects mortals from
the avenging gods? And your glorious mother, who would have given her
life for you? Yet you loved her, I suppose?"

"Thyone!" Hermon cried, deeply wounded, holding out his right hand as if
in defence. "Well, well!" said the matron. "I know that you revere her
memory. But that alone is not sufficient. On memorial festivals, and
especially on the birthdays, a mother's soul needs a prayer and a gift
from the son, a wreath, a fillet, fragrant ointment, a piece of honey, a
cup of wine or milk--all these things even the poor man spares from his
penury--yet a warm prayer, in pure remembrance and love, would suffice to
rob the wrath of Nemesis, which the enraged barbarian girl let loose upon
you, of its power. Only your mother, Hermon, the soul of the noble woman
who bore you, can restore to you what you have lost. Appeal for aid to
her, son of Erigone, and she will yet make everything right."

Bending quickly over the artist as she spoke, she kissed his brow and
moved steadily away, though he called her name with yearning entreaty.

A short time after, the steward Gras led Hermon to his cabin, and while
undressing him reported that a messenger from Pelusium had announced that
the commandant Philippus was coming to Tennis the next morning, before
the market place filled, to take his wife with him to Alexandria, where
he was going by the King's command.

Hermon only half listened, and then ordered the Bithynian to leave him.

After he had reclined on the couch a short time, he softly called the
names of the steward, Thyone, and Daphne. As he received no answer, and
thus learned that he was alone, he rose, drew himself up to his full
height, gazed heavenward with his bandaged eyes, stretched both hands
toward the ceiling of the low cabin, and obeyed his friend's bidding.

Thoroughly convinced that he was doing right, and ashamed of having so
long neg