of the clattering
wheel wakes the miller, so the stillness on the shore roused Hanno from
his dream.

What was it that Ledscha saw there so fascinating that she did not
even hear his low call? His father and Labaja had undoubtedly left his
grandmother's house long ago, and were looking for him in vain.

Yes, he was right; the old pirate's shrill whistle reached his ear from
the Owl's Nest, and he was accustomed to obedience.

So, lightly touching Ledscha on the shoulder, he whispered that he must
return to the island at once. His father would be rejoiced if she went
with him.

"To-morrow," she answered in a tone of resolute denial. Then, reminding
him once more of the meaning of the signals she had promised to give,
she waved her hand to him, sprang swiftly past him to the prow of the
boat, caught an overhanging bough of the willow on the shore, and, as
she had learned during the games of her childhood, swung herself as
lightly as a bird into the thicket at the water's edge, which concealed
her from every eye.

CHAPTER XII.

Without even vouchsafing Hanno another glance, Ledscha glided forward in
the shadow of the bushes to the great sycamore, whose thick, broad top
on the side toward the tents was striped with light from the flood of
radiance streaming from them. On the opposite side the leafage vanished
in the darkness of the night, but Myrtilus had had a bench placed there,
that he might rest in the shade, and from this spot the girl could
obtain the best view of what she desired to see.

How gay and animated it was under the awning!

A throng of companions had arrived with the Pelusinians, and some also
had probably been on the ship which--she knew it from Bias--had come to
Tennis directly from Alexandria that afternoon. The galley was said to
belong to Philotas, an aristocratic relative of King Ptolemy. If she was
not mistaken, he was the stately young Greek who was just picking up the
ostrich-feather fan that had slipped from Daphne's lap.

The performance was over.

Young slaves in gay garments, and nimble female servants with glittering
gold circlets round their upper arms and on their ankles, were
passing from couch to couch, and from one guest to another, offering
refreshments. Hermon had risen from his knees, and the wreath of bright
flowers again adorned his black curls. He held himself as proudly erect
as if the goddess of Victory herself had crowned him, while Althea was
reaping applaus