He pressed his hand to his brow and flung himself on a divan. He might well be weary, for he had not closed his eyes for more than thirty hours and had already done much business that morning. He had given orders to Sebek the house-steward and to the captain of the Egyptian guard to hunt out the owner of the sandals by the aid of the dogs, and to cast him into prison; next he had of his own accord--since his father generally did not fall asleep till the morning and had not yet left his room--tried to pacify the Arab merchant with regard to the mishap that had befallen his head man under the governor's roof; but with small success. Finally the young man had indulged his desire to compose a few lines addressed to the fair Heliodora--for there was no form of physical or mental effort to which he was not trained. He had not lost the idea that had occurred to him yesterday before his theft in the tablinum, and to put it into verse was in his present mood an easy task. He wrote as follows: "'Like liketh like' saith the saw; and like to like is but fitting. Yet, in the hardest of gems thy soft nature rejoices? Nay, but if noble and rare, if its beauty is priceless, Then, Heliodora, the stone is like thee--akin to thy beauty. Thus let this emerald please thee;--and know that the fire That fills it with light burns more fierce in the heart of thy Friend." He penned the lines rapidly; and as he did so he felt, he knew not why, an excited thrill, as though every word he threw off was a blow aimed at Paula. Last night he had intended to send the costly jewel to the handsome widow in a suitable setting; but now it would be madly imprudent to order such a thing. He must send it away at once; he had hastened to pack it up with the verses, with his own hand, and entrusted it to Chusar, a horsedealer's groom from Constantinople, who had brought his Pannonian steeds to Memphis. He had himself seen off this trustworthy messenger, who could speak no Egyptian and very little Greek, and when his horse was lost to sight in the dust of the road leading to Alexandria he had returned home in a calmer mood. Ships were constantly putting to sea from that port for Constantinople, and Chusar was enjoined to sail by the first that should be leaving. At least the odious deed should not have been committed in vain; and yet he would have given a year of his life if now he could but know that it had never been done.