The young man's face had grown unusually grave and thoughtful as he listened to the recital of the dream. No man or woman of his time who believed in anything ever thought of doubting that the visions of sleep were divine communications to mortals. Statesmen directed the course of nations and generals planned their campaigns in accordance with the interpretation of these revelations.
"What does it mean, Clearchus? You are wiser than I," Artemisia said anxiously. "If I am separated from thee, I shall die."
"The men who halted you seemed to be barbarians?" Clearchus asked thoughtfully.
"Thus they seemed," she replied. "I could not understand their speech, and their clothes were not our fashion."
"I know not what it means, Artemisia," Clearchus said at last. "We are in the hands of the Gods. I shall ask the protection of Artemis and offer her a sacrifice. To-morrow we must be married. I do not dare to wait for the new moon, for I must be near you to protect you. Then, whatever may come, we will meet it together."
"Perhaps the dream was meant for me alone," Artemisia said tenderly. "I cannot bear to bring you into danger."
"Hush, Artemisia!" Clearchus said reprovingly. "I would rather a thousand times die with thee than live without thee."
With a sigh, she let her head rest on his shoulder.
"I care not what may happen so that thou art with me," she said; "then I can feel no fear."
"Artemisia," Clearchus said suddenly, "go not out again to-day. I shall tell Philox to guard thee well until to-morrow. Hast thou told Melissa of the dream?"
"No, for I wished to tell thee first and she is so easily frightened," Artemisia said.
"Then say nothing to her about it," the young man replied.
One of the little slave girls ran up to them at this moment and stood before them, twisting her fingers together and waiting to be spoken to.
"The morning meal is waiting, mistress," said the child, and sped away again.
Ariston, uncle of Clearchus and formerly guardian of his fortune, sat at his work-table before a mass of papyri closely written with memoranda and accounts. His house stood by itself in a quarter of the city that had once been fashionable but now was occupied chiefly by the poorer class of citizens. Its front was without windows and its stone walls were yellowed and stained with age. Its seclusion seemed to be emphasized by the bustle of life that surrounded it and in which it had no part.