Who would ever have believed
that I should get any satisfaction out of this 'Crown of Martyrdom'?
By the gods! It is by no means impossible, and I hope the manes of the
deceased will forgive me for your sake. But it is getting late, so only
one thing more: for my own share of the business all I claim is my right
to tell your mother myself of all that has occurred; you, on your part,
must go at once to Eusebius and beg him to receive Dada in his house.
If he consents--and he certainly will--take him with you to our uncle
Porphyrius and wait there till I come; then, if all goes well, I will
take you and Dada to your mother--or, if not, we will go with Eusebius."

"Dada to my mother!" cried Marcus. "But what will she...."

"She will receive her as a daughter," interrupted his brother, "if
you hold your tongue about the whole business till I give you leave to
speak.--There, the tall gate-keeper is closing the episcopal palace,
so nothing more can come out of there to-night. You are a lucky
fellow--well good-bye till we meet again; I am in a hurry."

The farmer went off, leaving Marcus with a thousand questions still
unasked. However, the young man did his bidding and went, hopeful though
not altogether free from doubts, to find his old tutor and friend.

CHAPTER XXVII.

While Marcus carried out his brother's instructions Dada was expecting
him and Eusebius with the greatest impatience. Gorgo had charged her
waiting-woman to conduct the girl into the music-room and to tell her
that she would join her there if her father was in such a state as to
allow of it. Some refreshments were brought in to her, all delicate and
tempting enough; but Dada would not touch them, for she fancied that the
merchant's daughter was avoiding her intentionally, and her heart ached
with a sense of bereavement and loneliness. To distract her thoughts she
wandered round the room, looking at the works of art that stood against
the walls, feeling the stuffs with which the cushions were covered and
striking a lute which was leaning against the pedestal of a Muse. She
only played a few chords, but they sufficed to call up a whole train of
memories; she sank on a divan in the darkest corner she could find in
the brilliantly-lighted room, and gave herself up to reviewing the many
events of the last few days. It was all so bright, so delightful, that
it hardly seemed real, and her hopes were so radiantly happy that for a
moment she trembled to thi