footing with those whose love he had perhaps
owed solely to his wealth. He had never lacked courage and resolution,
but he felt that this time he would have to resist a power with which he
had never coped.

That accursed face! Again and again it rose before his mental vision,
smiling and beckoning so sweetly that the day must come when the
yearning to realize the dream would conquer all opposition. If he
remained near her he would inevitably do what he might afterwards
regret, and therefore he would fain have offered a sacrifice to Peitho
to induce her to enhance Archibius's powers of persuasion and induce
Barine to leave Alexandria. It would be hard for him to part from her,
yet much would be gained if she went into the country. Between the
present and the distant period of a second meeting lay respite from
peril, and perhaps the possibility of victory. Dion did not recognize
himself. He seemed as unstable as a swaying reed, because he had
conquered his wish to re-enter old Didymus's house and encourage him,
and passed on to his own home. But he would probably have found Barine
still with her grandfather, and he would not meet her, though every
fibre of his being longed for her face, her voice, and a word of
gratitude from her beloved lips. Instead of joy, he was filled with the
sense of dissatisfaction which overpowers a man standing at a crossing
in the roads, who sees before him three goals, yet can be fully content
with neither.

The Street of the King, along which he suffered himself to be carried by
the excited throng, ran between the sea and the Theatre of Dionysus. The
thought darted through his mind that his friend the architect desired to
erect the luckless statues of the royal lovers in front of this stately
building. He would divert his thoughts by examining the site which
Gorgias had chosen.

The zither-player finished his hymn just as Dion approached the theatre,
and the crowd began to disperse. Every one was full of the joyful
tidings of victory, and one shouted to another what Anaxenor, the
favourite of the great Antony, who must surely know, had just recited
in thrilling verse. Many a joyous Io and loud Evoe to Cleopatra, the
new Isis, and Antony, the new Dionysus, resounded through the air, while
bearded and smooth, delicate Greek and thick Egyptian lips joined in the
shout, "To the Sebasteum!" This was the royal palace, which faced the
government building containing the Regent's residence. The po