did not
dare. Ione broke the pause between them.

'My poor brother,' said she, sighing, 'how once he would have enjoyed
this hour!'

'Your brother!' said Glaucus; 'I have not seen him. Occupied with you,
I have thought of nothing else, or I should have asked if that was not
your brother for whose companionship you left me at the Temple of
Minerva, in Neapolis?'

'It was.'

'And is he here?'

'He is.

'At Pompeii! and not constantly with you? Impossible!'

'He has other duties,' answered Ione, sadly; 'he is a priest of Isis.'

'So young, too; and that priesthood, in its laws at least, so severe!'
said the warm and bright-hearted Greek, in surprise and pity. 'What
could have been his inducement?'

'He was always enthusiastic and fervent in religious devotion: and the
eloquence of an Egyptian--our friend and guardian--kindled in him the
pious desire to consecrate his life to the most mystic of our deities.
Perhaps in the intenseness of his zeal, he found in the severity of that
peculiar priesthood its peculiar attraction.'

'And he does not repent his choice?--I trust he is happy.'

Ione sighed deeply, and lowered her veil over her eyes.

'I wish,' said she, after a pause, 'that he had not been so hasty.
Perhaps, like all who expect too much, he is revolted too easily!'

'Then he is not happy in his new condition. And this Egyptian, was he a
priest himself? was he interested in recruits to the sacred band?

'No. His main interest was in our happiness. He thought he promoted
that of my brother. We were left orphans.'

'Like myself,' said Glaucus, with a deep meaning in his voice.

Ione cast down her eyes as she resumed:

'And Arbaces sought to supply the place of our parent. You must know
him. He loves genius.'

'Arbaces! I know him already; at least, we speak when we meet. But for
your praise I would not seek to know more of him. My heart inclines
readily to most of my kind. But that dark Egyptian, with his gloomy
brow and icy smiles, seems to me to sadden the very sun. One would think
that, like Epimenides, the Cretan, he had spent forty years in a cave,
and had found something unnatural in the daylight ever afterwards.'

'Yet, like Epimenides, he is kind, and wise, and gentle,' answered Ione.

'Oh, happy that he has thy praise! He needs no other virtues to make
him dear to me.'

'His calm, his coldness,' said Ione, evasively pursuing the subject,
'are perhaps but the exhaustion of p