in a tone of the deepest disappointment: "This portrait is
yours, and no one can wonder at your refusal. We must, therefore,
consider how to attain our end without this important ally." Berenike's
gaze had lingered calmly on the sweet face while he spoke, looking more
and more deeply into the beautiful, expressive features. All was silent.

At last she slowly turned to Melissa, who stood gazing sadly at the
ground, and said in a low voice: "She resembled you in many ways. The
gods had formed her to shed joy and light around her. Where she could
wipe away a tear she always did so. Her portrait is speechless, and yet
it tells me to act as she herself would have acted. If this work can
indeed move Caracalla to clemency, then--You, Philostratus, really think
so?"

"Yes," he replied, decisively. "There can be no better mediator for
Alexander than this work." Berenike drew herself up, and said:

"Well, then, to-morrow morning early, I will send it to you at the
Serapeum. The portrait of the dead may perish if it may but save the life
of him who wrought it so lovingly." She turned away her face as she gave
the philosopher her hand, and then hastily left the room.

Melissa flew after her and, with overflowing gratitude, besought the
sobbing lady not to weep.

"I know something that will bring you greater comfort than my brother's
picture: I mean the living image of your Korinna--a young girl; she is
here in Alexandria."

"Zeno's daughter Agatha?" said Berenike; and when Melissa said yes, it
was she, the lady went on with a deep sigh: "Thanks for your kind
thought, my child; but she, too, is lost to me."

And as she spoke she sank on a couch, saying, in a low voice, "I would
rather be alone."

Melissa modestly withdrew into the adjoining room, and Philostratus, who
had been lost in the contemplation of the picture, took his leave.

He did not make use of the imperial chariot in waiting for him, but
returned to his lodgings on foot, in such good spirits, and so well
satisfied with himself, as he had not been before since leaving Rome.

When Berenike had rested in solitude for some little time she recalled
Melissa, and took as much care of her young guest as though she were her
lost darling, restored to her after a brief absence. First she allowed
the girl to send for Argutis; and when she had assured the faithful slave
that all promised well, she dismissed him with instructions to await at
home his young mistress's ord