dares
the dangers of the way. Bring hither him thou speakest of. I would see
him.

Ione. She stands before thee. Nay, start not, Father. _I_ will seek the
dreaded glen and gather there the magic flowers that may bring health to
Constantine and happiness to me. I will away; bless, and let me go.

Helon. Thou, a woman delicate and fair! Nay, nay, it must not be, my
child! Better he should die than thou shouldst come to harm. I cannot
let thee go.

Ione. Thou canst not keep me now. Thou hast forgot I am a slave, and
none may guess beneath this veil a princess is concealed. I will take my
water-urn, and with the other slaves pass to the spring beyond the city
gates; then glide unseen into the haunted glen. Now, tell me how looks
the herb, that I may know it.

Helon. 'Tis a small, green plant that blossoms only by the broad, dark
stream, dashing among the rocks that fill the glen. But let me once
again implore thee not to go. Ah, fatal hour when first I told thee!
'Tis sending thee to thy death! Stay, stay, my child, or let me go with
thee.

Ione. It cannot be; do thou remain, and if I come not back ere set of
sun, do thou come forth to seek me. Tell Constantine I loved him, and so
farewell. I return successful, or I return no more.

[Ione _rushes out._

Helon. Thou brave and noble one to dare so much for one who loves thee
not! I'll go and pray the gods to watch above thee, and bring thee
safely back.

[_Exit_ Helon.

CURTAIN.

SCENE FIFTH.

[_A terrace beside the palace.
Enter_ Constantine.]

Con. Why comes she not? I watched her slender form when with the other
slaves she went forth to the fountain yonder. I knew her by the rosy
veil and snow-white arm that bore the water-urn. The morning sun shone
brightly on the golden hair, and seemed more beautiful for resting
there; and now 'tis nearly set, and yet she comes not. Why should I
grieve because my mother's slave forgets me? Shame on thee, Constantine!
How weak and childish have I grown! This fever gives no rest when Ione
is not here to sing sweet songs, and cheer the weary hours. Ah, she
comes! [_Enter_ Ione _with basket of flowers._] Where hast thou been,
Ione? The long day passed so slowly, and I missed thee sadly from my
side. But th