."

Xanthe, hand in hand with her lover, hurried on in advance of the
procession, lovingly prepared her father for what had happened, told
him how much injustice he, old Semestre, and she herself had done poor
Phaon, led the youth to him, and, deeply agitated, sank on her knees
before him as he laid her hand in her playfellow's, exclaiming in a
trembling voice:

"I have always loved you, curly-head, and Xanthe wants you for her
husband. Then I, too, should have a son!--Hear, lofty Olympians, a good,
strong, noble son! Help me up, my boy. How well I feel! Haven't I
gained in you two stout legs and arms? Only let the old woman come to me
to-day! The conjurer taught me how to meet her."

Leaning on Phaon's strong shoulder he joyously went out of the house,
greeted his handsome young nephew as well as his brother, and said:

"Let Phaon live with Xanthe in my house, which will soon be his own, for
I am feeble and need help."

"With all my heart," cried Protarch, "and it will be well on every
account, for, for--well, it must come out, for I, foolish graybeard--"

"Well?" asked Lysander, and Semestre curved her hand into a shell and
held it to her ear to hear better.

"I--just look at me--I, Protarch, Dionysius's son, can no longer bear to
stay in the house all alone with that silent youth and old Jason, and so
I have--perhaps it is a folly, but certainly no crime--so I have chosen
a new wife in Messina."

"Protarch!" cried Lysander, raising his hands in astonishment; but
Phaon nodded to his father approvingly, exchanging a joyous glance with
Xanthe.

"He has chosen my mother's younger sister," said Leonax.

"The younger, yes, but not the youngest," interrupted Protarch. "You
must have your wedding in three days, children. Phaon will live here in
your house, Lysander, with his Xanthe, end I in the old one yonder with
my Praxilla. Directly after your marriage I shall go back to Messina
with Leonax and bring home my wife."

"We have long needed a mistress in the house, and I bless your bold
resolution!" exclaimed Jason.

"Yes, you were always brave," said the invalid.

"But not so very courageous this time as it might seem," answered
Protarch, smiling. "Praxilla is an estimable widow, and it was for her I
purchased in Messina the matron's robes for which you asked, Semestre."

"For her?" murmured the old woman. "There is a blue one among them too,
which will be becoming, for she has light brown hair very slightl