ak the physician came back, glanced at
the dead man's distorted features, laid a hand on his heart, and said
with solemn regret as he led little Mary away from the couch:

"A good and just man is gone from the land of the living."

Orion cried aloud and pushed away Mary, who had stolen close to him; for,
young as she was, she felt that it was she who had brought the worst woe
on her uncle, and that it was her part to show him some affection.

She ran then to her grandmother; but she, too, put her aside and fell on
her knees by the side of her wretched son to weep with him; to console
him who was inconsolable, and in whom, a few minutes since, she had hoped
to find her own best consolation; but her fond words of motherly comfort
found no echo in his broken spirit.

CHAPTER XVI.

When Philippus had parted from Paula he had told her that the Mukaukas
might indeed die at any moment, but that it was possible that he might
yet struggle with death for weeks to come. This hope had comforted her;
for she could not bear to think that the only true friend she had had in
Memphis, till she had become more intimate with the physician, should
quit the world forever without having heard her justification. Nothing
could be more unlikely than that any one in Neforis' household--excepting
her little grandchild should ever remember her with kindness; and she
scarcely desired it; but she rebelled against the idea of forfeiting the
respect she had earned, even in the governor's house. If her friend
should succeed in prolonging her uncle's life, by a confidential
interview with him she might win back his old affection and his good
opinion.

Her new home she felt was but a resting-place, a tabernacle in the
desert-journey of her solitary pilgrimage, and she here meant to avail
herself of the information she had gathered from her Melchite dependents.
Hope had now risen supreme in her heart over grief and disappointment.
Orion's presence alone hung like a threatening hail-cloud over the
sprouting harvest of her peace of mind. And yet, next to the necessity of
waiting at Memphis for the return of her messenger, nothing tied her to
the place so strongly as her interest in watching the future course of
his life, at any rate from a distance. What she felt for him-and she told
herself it was deep aversion-nevertheless constituted a large share of
her inner life, little as she would confess it to herself.

Her new hosts had received her a