ad not ventured
there at present. But she, poor mistress mine, hears nothing of that
which reaches us; the talk of the vestibulum reaches not to the
peristyle.'

'Never till now!' repeated Nydia. 'Art thou sure?'

'Sure, pretty one: but what is that to thee or to us?'

Nydia hesitated a moment, and then, putting down the flowers with which
she had been charged, she called to the slave who had accompanied her,
and left the house without saying another word.

Not till she had got half-way back to the house of Glaucus did she break
silence, and even then she only murmured inly:

'She does not dream--she cannot--of the dangers into which she has
plunged. Fool that I am--shall I save her?--yes, for I love Glaucus
better than myself.'

When she arrived at the house of the Athenian, she learnt that he had
gone out with a party of his friends, and none knew whither. He
probably would not be home before midnight.

The Thessalian groaned; she sank upon a seat in the hall and covered her
face with her hands as if to collect her thoughts. 'There is no time to
be lost,' thought she, starting up. She turned to the slave who had
accompanied her.

'Knowest thou,' said she, 'if Ione has any relative, any intimate friend
at Pompeii?'

'Why, by Jupiter!' answered the slave, 'art thou silly enough to ask the
question? Every one in Pompeii knows that Ione has a brother who, young
and rich, has been--under the rose I speak--so foolish as to become a
priest of Isis.'

'A priest of Isis! O Gods! his name?'

'Apaecides.'

'I know it all,' muttered Nydia: 'brother and sister, then, are to be
both victims! Apaecides! yes, that was the name I heard in... Ha! he
well, then, knows the peril that surrounds his sister; I will go to
him.'

She sprang up at that thought, and taking the staff which always guided
her steps, she hastened to the neighboring shrine of Isis. Till she had
been under the guardianship of the kindly Greek, that staff had sufficed
to conduct the poor blind girl from corner to corner of Pompeii. Every
street, every turning in the more frequented parts, was familiar to her;
and as the inhabitants entertained a tender and half-superstitious
veneration for those subject to her infirmity, the passengers had always
given way to her timid steps. Poor girl, she little dreamed that she
should, ere many days were passed, find her blindness her protection,
and a guide far safer than the keenest eyes!

But since