he read the letter of Ione,
'whitest robed messenger that ever passed between earth and heaven--how,
how shall I thank thee?'

'I am rewarded,' said the poor Thessalian.

'To-morrow--to-morrow! how shall I while the hours till then?'

The enamoured Greek would not let Nydia escape him, though she sought
several times to leave the chamber; he made her recite to him over and
over again every syllable of the brief conversation that had taken place
between her and Ione; a thousand times, forgetting her misfortune, he
questioned her of the looks, of the countenance of his beloved; and then
quickly again excusing his fault, he bade her recommence the whole
recital which he had thus interrupted. The hours thus painful to Nydia
passed rapidly and delightfully to him, and the twilight had already
darkened ere he once more dismissed her to Ione with a fresh letter and
with new flowers. Scarcely had she gone, than Clodius and several of
his gay companions broke in upon him; they rallied him on his seclusion
during the whole day, and absence from his customary haunts; they
invited him to accompany them to the various resorts in that lively
city, which night and day proffered diversity to pleasure. Then, as
now, in the south (for no land, perhaps, losing more of greatness has
retained more of custom), it was the delight of the Italians to assemble
at the evening; and, under the porticoes of temples or the shade of the
groves that interspersed the streets, listening to music or the recitals
of some inventive tale-teller, they hailed the rising moon with
libations of wine and the melodies of song. Glaucus was too happy to be
unsocial; he longed to cast off the exuberance of joy that oppressed
him. He willingly accepted the proposal of his comrades, and laughingly
they sallied out together down the populous and glittering streets.

In the meantime Nydia once more gained the house of Ione, who had long
left it; she inquired indifferently whither Ione had gone.

The answer arrested and appalled her.

'To the house of Arbaces--of the Egyptian? Impossible!'

'It is true, my little one,' said the slave, who had replied to her
question. 'She has known the Egyptian long.'

'Long! ye gods, yet Glaucus loves her?' murmured Nydia to herself.

'And has,' asked she aloud, 'has she often visited him before?'

'Never till now,' answered the slave. 'If all the rumored scandal of
Pompeii be true, it would be better, perhaps, if she h