Glaucus loved Ione, a beautiful young Neapolitan of Greek parentage who had lately come to Pompeii. She was one of those brilliant characters which seldom flash across our career. She united in the highest perfection the rarest of earthly gifts,--Genius and Beauty. No one ever possessed superior intellectual qualities without knowing them. In the person of Ione, Glaucus found the long-sought idol of his dreams; and so infatuated was he, that he could talk of no one else. No song was sweet but that which breathed of love, and to him love was but a synonym of Ione. "Play to us, dear Nydia,--play, and give us one of thy songs; whether it be of magic or not as thou wilt--let it at least be of love." "Of love! wish you that I should sing of love?" "Yes." She moved a little way from Ione, who had learned to love her more as a sister than a slave, and placing her light, graceful instrument on her knee, after a short prelude, she sang the following strain, in which with touching pathos, her own sighs were represented by the _Wind_, the brightness of the beautiful Ione by the _Sun-beam_, and the personality of Glaucus by his favorite flower, the _Rose_. I The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose, And the Rose loved one; For who seeks the Wind where it blows? Or loves not the Sun? II None knew where the humble Wind stole, Poor sport of the skies-- None dreamt that the Wind had a soul, In its mournful sighs! III Oh, happy Beam! how canst thou prove That bright love of thine? In thy light is the proof of thy love, Thou hast but--to shine! IV How can the Wind its love reveal? Unwelcome its sigh; Mute--mute to its Rose be it still-- Its proof is--to die! Alike in their mornings at the house of Ione, and in their evening excursions, Nydia was usually their constant, and often their sole companion. They did not guess the secret fires which consumed her; the flames of which were ever fanned by the unconscious breath of the two lovers. Yet her fidelity arose above her pitiful pangs of jealousy and in the hour of need she was the tried and trusted. The scene changes; where only the brightness of uninterrupted love had hitherto fallen, now creep the black shadows of tragic sorrow. Ione falls into the clutches of Arbaces, a subtle, crafty Egyptian, who attempted by the magic of his dark sorcery, to win her away from Glaucus. In pursuit of his base designs, Arbaces murders Apaecides, the brother of Ione, imprisons the priest Calenus, the only witness of the deed, and with great cunning weaves a convicting web of circumstantial evidence around Glaucus, his hated rival. Glaucus is tried, convicted, and doomed to be thrown to the lion. Ione and Nydia are also prisoners in the house of Arbaces. Glaucus has been placed in that gloomy and narrow cell in which the criminals of the arena awaited their last and fearful struggle.