face of
Nemesis, and the wheel whose turning determined the destiny of men at
her feet.

Assailed by horrible fears, and overpowered by presentiments of evil, he
pursued his way through the darkness.

Perhaps Myrtilus had succumbed to the terrible attack which must have
visited him in such a storm, and life without his friend would be
bereft of half its charm. Orphaned, poor, a struggler who had gained no
complete victory, it had been rich only in disappointments to him, in
spite of his conviction that he was a genuine artist, and was fighting
for a good cause. Now he knew that he had also lost the woman by whose
assistance he was certain of a great success in his own much-disputed
course, and Ledscha, if any one, was right in expecting a favourable
hearing from the goddess who punished injustice.

He did not think of Daphne again until he was approaching the place
where her tents had stood, and the remembrance of her fell like a ray of
light into his darkened soul.

Yet on that spot had also been erected the wooden platform from which
Althea had showed him the transformation into the spider, and the
recollection of the foolish error into which the Thracian had drawn him
disagreeably clouded the pleasant thought of Daphne.

CHAPTER XVII.

Complete darkness enfolded the white house. Hermon saw only two windows
lighted, the ones in his friend's studio, which looked out into the open
square, while his own faced the water.

What did this mean?

It must be nearly midnight, and he could no longer expect Myrtilus to be
still at work. He had supposed that he should find him in his chamber,
supported by his slaves, struggling for breath. What was the meaning of
the light in the workrooms now?

Where was his usually efficient Bias? He never went to rest when his
master was to return home, yet the carrier dove must have announced his
coming!

But Hermon had also enjoined the care of Myrtilus upon the slave, and he
was undoubtedly beside the sufferer's couch, supporting him in the same
way that he had often seen his master.

He was now riding across the open space, and he heard the men who
carried the Gaul talking close behind him.

Was the wounded barbarian the sole acquisition of this journey?

The beat of his horse's hoofs and the voices of the Biamites echoed
distinctly enough amid the stillness of the night, which was interrupted
only by the roaring of the wind. And this disturbance of the deep
silence