to admire the dead girl's lute, and her first piece of weaving, and the
elegant loom of ebony and ivory in which she had woven it. And Berenike
repeated to the girl the verses which Korinna had composed, in imitation
of Catullus, on the death of a favorite bird. And although Melissa's
eyes were almost closing with fatigue, she forced herself to attend to it
all, for she saw now how much her sympathy pleased her kind friend.

Meanwhile the voices of the men, who had done eating and were now
drinking, came louder and louder into the women's apartments. When the
merriment of her guests rose to a higher pitch than usual, or something
amusing gave rise to a shout of laughter, Berenike shrank, and either
muttered some unintelligible threat or besought the forgiveness of her
daughter's manes.

It seemed to be a relief to her to rush from one mood to the other; but
neither in her grief, nor when her motherly feeling led her to talk, nor
yet in her wrath, did she lose her perfect dignity. All Melissa saw and
heard moved her to pity or to horror. And meanwhile she was worn out
with anxiety for her family, and with increasing fatigue.

At last, however, she was released. A gay chorus of women's voices and
flutes came up from the banqueting-hall. With a haughty mien and dilated
nostrils Berenike listened to the first few bars. That such a song
should be heard in her house of woe was too much; with her own hand she
closed the shutters over the window next her; then she bade her young
guest go to bed.

Oh, how glad was the overtired girl to stretch herself on the soft couch!
As usual, before going to sleep, she told her mother in the spirit all
the history of the day. Then she prayed to the manes of the departed to