exactly as he felt now.

Irene too was still but a child, and no less guileless than his darling
in his own home; and just as his sister had trusted him--offering him
the best she had to give--so this simple child trusted him; him, the
profligate Lysias, before whom all the modest women of Corinth cast down
their eyes, while fathers warned their growing-up sons against him;
trusted him with her virgin self--nay, as he thought, her sacred person.

"I will do thee no harm, sweet child!" he murmured to himself, as he
presently turned on his heel to return to the well. He went forward
quickly at first, but after a few steps he paused before the marvellous
and glorious picture that met his gaze. Was Memphis in flames? Had fire
fallen to burn up the shroud of mist which had veiled his way to the
temple?

The trunks of the acacia-trees stood up like the blackened pillars of a
burning city, and behind them the glow of a conflagration blazed high up
to the heavens. Beams of violet and gold slipped and sparkled between
the boughs, and danced among the thorny twigs, the white racemes of
flowers, and the tufts of leaves with their feathery leaflets; the clouds
above were fired with tints more pure and tender than those of the roses
with which Cleopatra had decked herself for the banquet.

Not like this did the sun rise in his own country! Or, was it perhaps
only that in Corinth or in Athens at break of day, as he staggered home
drunk from some feast, he had looked more at the earth than at the
heavens?

His horses began now to neigh loudly as if to greet the steeds of the