evening the residence of Lucius was a scene of gaiety and
splendour.

Venusta welcomed her husband with the true feelings of a loyal wife, and
Nika was glad at the return of her father; she could now repose on his
protective presence.

Many of the nobles of Ephesus had gathered there--artists and sculptors,
philosophers and warriors, lovely women, Greeks and Romans, maidens of
Caria, Priene, and girls from Samos blended in one great mass of power
and beauty.

The sweet day still cast its soft light, and lit up the lovely flowers
and beautiful trees of olive, cypress, pine, and myrtle. The sun had
lost its power, the atmosphere was deliciously cool, and many came from
within to breathe the refreshing air ere the dew bathed the grass and
the night-birds sang from the grove, or the twilight heralded the night
and the stars encircled the moon.

Nika, leaning on the arm of Lucius, stood by a great white marble
fountain--he the bronzed sea-warrior, and she like a dream of spring.

'Tell me, child--for many seasons have rolled away since I left thee and
thy mother to visit those lovely isles in the far-off west--is thy young
heart sound like thy father's barque after the battling of the stormy
seas, or has Cupid laid siege and thou capitulated?'

'Nay, father, Nika's heart is free, neither could it be otherwise, for
it is hard as the marble of this fountain, colder than the water which
springs from each chaste design.'

'Ah, girl, thou art, I fear, like others of thy sex, prone to sail under
false colours when a lover is in chase. Tell me, where is Chios? I
thought he would have been here. Was he not bidden?'

'He was, but there is no written law for him. He moves in his own
eccentric orbit. He will come when most unexpected, suddenly, like an
eagle from the clear blue depths of the sky, or as a comet from out the
midnight gloom.'

'Why, daughter, there he is, conversing with that sweet maid of Smyrna!
Let us crowd all sail, and bear down on his weather. Quickly! I like
that boy, and, if my reckoning be correct, thou dost not dislike him. Am
I right?'

'Well, I like him, and I like him not. He has mixed much with the people
of the new faith, and ever as he goes that way his mind becomes
o'erclouded with gloom. He is strangely abstracted, scarce a word
escapes his lips. Were it not for this strange faith which spells him, I
should say he loved, and, if 'twere love, I should not be the idol of
his choice.'

'Who,