st not ask what I will not grant,' replied the Neapolitan.

'They tell me,' said Nydia, 'that thou art beautiful beyond the
loveliness of earth. Alas! I cannot see that which gladdens the world!
Wilt thou suffer me, then, to pass my hand over thy face?--that is my
sole criterion of beauty, and I usually guess aright.'

She did not wait for the answer of Ione, but, as she spoke, gently and
slowly passed her hand over the bending and half-averted features of the
Greek--features which but one image in the world can yet depicture and
recall--that image is the mutilated, but all-wondrous, statue in her
native city--her own Neapolis--that Parian face, before which all the
beauty of the Florentine Venus is poor and earthly--that aspect so full
of harmony--of youth--of genius--of the soul--which modern critics have
supposed the representation of Psyche.

Her touch lingered over the braided hair and polished brow--over the
downy and damask cheek--over the dimpled lip--the swan-like and whitish
neck. 'I know now, that thou art beautiful,' she said: 'and I can
picture thee to my darkness henceforth, and for ever!'

When Nydia left her, Ione sank into a deep but delicious reverie.
Glaucus then loved her; he owned it--yes, he loved her. She drew forth
again that dear confession; she paused over every word, she kissed every
line; she did not ask why he had been maligned, she only felt assured
that he had been so. She wondered how she had ever believed a syllable
against him; she wondered how the Egyptian had been enabled to exercise
a power against Glaucus; she felt a chill creep over her as she again
turned to his warning against Arbaces, and her secret fear of that
gloomy being darkened into awe. She was awakened from these thoughts by
her maidens, who came to announce to her that the hour appointed to
visit Arbaces was arrived; she started, she had forgotten the promise.
Her first impression was to renounce it; her second, was to laugh at her
own fears of her eldest surviving friend. She hastened to add the usual
ornaments to her dress, and doubtful whether she should yet question the
Egyptian more closely with respect to his accusation of Glaucus, or
whether she should wait till, without citing the authority, she should
insinuate to Glaucus the accusation itself, she took her way to the
gloomy mansion of Arbaces.

Chapter VII

IONE ENTRAPPED. THE MOUSE TRIES TO GNAW THE NET.

'DEAREST Nydia!' exclaimed Glaucus as