Arachne | Page 3

costume were approaching.
The first two had come from the large white house whose door, since
sunset, had been the principal object of her attention.
It was Hermon, the taller one, for whom she was waiting with old
Tabus. He had promised to take her from the Owl's Nest, after nightfall,
for a lonely row upon the water.
Now he was not coming alone, but with his fellow-artist, the sculptor
Myrtilus, the nomarch and the notary--she recognised both
distinctly--Gorgias, the rich owner of the second largest weaving
establishment in Tennis, and several slaves.
What did it mean?
A sudden flush crimsoned her face, now slightly tanned, to the brow,
and her lips were compressed, giving her mouth an expression of
repellent, almost cruel harshness.
But the tension of her charming features, whose lines, though sharp,
were delicately outlined, soon vanished. There was still plenty of time
before the darkness would permit Hermon to join her unnoticed. A
reception, from which he could not be absent, was evidently about to
take place.
Yes, that was certainly the case; for now the magnificent galley had

approached as near the land as the shallow water permitted, and the
whistle of the rowers' flute-player, shouts of command, and the barking
of dogs could be heard.
Then a handkerchief waved a greeting from the vessel to the men on
shore, but the hand that held it was a woman's. Ledscha would have
recognised it had the twilight been far deeper.
The features of the new arrival could no longer be distinguished; but
she must be young. An elderly woman would not have sprung so
nimbly into the skiff that was to convey her to the land.
The man who assisted her in doing so was the same sculptor, Hermon,
for whom she had watched with so much longing.
Again the blood mounted into Ledscha's cheeks, and when she saw the
stranger lay her hand upon the shoulder of the Alexandrian who, only
yesterday, had assured the young girl of his love with ardent vows, and
allow him to lift her out of the boat, she buried her little white teeth
deeply in her lips.
She had never seen Hermon in the society of a woman of his own class,
and, full of jealous displeasure; perceived with what zealous assiduity
he who bowed before no one in Tennis, paid court to the stranger no
less eagerly than did his friend Myrtilus.
The whole scene passed like a shadow in the dusk before Ledscha's
eyes, half dimmed by uneasiness, perplexity, and suddenly inflamed
jealousy.
The Egyptian twilight is short, and when Hermon disappeared with the
new-comer it was no longer possible to recognise the man who entered
the very boat in which she was to have taken the nocturnal voyage with
her lover, and which was now rowed toward the Owl's Nest.
Surely it would bring her a message from Hermon; and as the stranger,
who was now joined by a number of other women and two packs of
barking dogs, with their keepers, vanished in the darkness, the skiff

already touched the shore close at her side.
CHAPTER II.
In spite of the surrounding gloom, Ledscha recognised the man who
left the boat.
The greeting he shouted told her that it was Hermon's slave, Pias, a
Biamite, whom she had met in the house of some neighbours who were
his relatives and had sharply rebuffed when he ventured to accost her
more familiarly than was seemly for one in bondage.
True, in his childhood this man had lived near Tennis as the son of a
free papyrus raiser, but when still a lad was sold into slavery in
Alexandria with his father, who had been seized for taking part in an
insurrection against the last king.
In the service of Areluas, his present master's uncle, who had given him
to his nephew, and as the slave of the impetuous yet anything but cruel
sculptor, Hermon, he had become accustomed to bondage, but was still
far more strongly attached to his Biamite race than to the Greek, to
whom, it is true, his master belonged, but who had robbed him and his
family of freedom.
The man of forty did not lack mother wit, and as his hard fate rendered
him thoughtful and often led him to use figurative turns of speech,
which were by no means intended as jests, he had been called by his
first master "Bias" for the sage of Priene.
In the house of Hermon, who associated with the best artists in
Alexandria, he had picked up all sorts of knowledge and gladly
welcomed instruction. His highest desire was to win esteem, and he
often did so.
Hermon prized the useful fellow highly. He had no secrets from him,
and was sure of his silence