rose the
incense and bloomed the garlands. The priest gazed long and wistfully
upon the scene--it was the last time that it was ever beheld by him!

He then turned and pursued his way slowly towards the house of Ione; for
before possibly the last tie that united them was cut in twain--before
the uncertain peril of the next day was incurred, he was anxious to see
his last surviving relative, his fondest as his earliest friend.

He arrived at her house, and found her in the garden with Nydia.

'This is kind, Apaecides,' said Ione, joyfully; 'and how eagerly have I
wished to see thee!--what thanks do I not owe thee? How churlish hast
thou been to answer none of my letters--to abstain from coming hither to
receive the expressions of my gratitude! Oh! thou hast assisted to
preserve thy sister from dishonour! What, what can she say to thank
thee, now thou art come at last?'

'My sweet Ione, thou owest me no gratitude, for thy cause was mine. Let
us avoid that subject, let us recur not to that impious man--how hateful
to both of us! I may have a speedy opportunity to teach the world the
nature of his pretended wisdom and hypocritical severity. But let us
sit down, my sister; I am wearied with the heat of the sun; let us sit
in yonder shade, and, for a little while longer, be to each other what
we have been.'

Beneath a wide plane-tree, with the cistus and the arbutus clustering
round them, the living fountain before, the greensward beneath their
feet; the gay cicada, once so dear to Athens, rising merrily ever and
anon amidst the grass; the butterfly, beautiful emblem of the soul,
dedicated to Psyche, and which has continued to furnish illustrations to
the Christian bard, rich in the glowing colors caught from Sicilian
skies, hovering about the sunny flowers, itself like a winged flower--in
this spot, and this scene, the brother and the sister sat together for
the last time on earth. You may tread now on the same place; but the
garden is no more, the columns are shattered, the fountain has ceased to
play. Let the traveler search amongst the ruins of Pompeii for the
house of Ione. Its remains are yet visible; but I will not betray them
to the gaze of commonplace tourists. He who is more sensitive than the
herd will discover them easily: when he has done so, let him keep the
secret.

They sat down, and Nydia, glad to be alone, retired to the farther end
of the garden.

'Ione, my sister,' said the young convert,