“What new name would you suggest?” asked Vashti with a wondering smile. “What do you say to Athenaïs?” he asked, watching her keenly as he spoke. Was he mistaken, or did Vashti give a start as if she recognized the hidden purport of the question? Her surprise, if such it were, was quickly under control. She looked at him with eyes calm and unfathomable in their expression. “No true Hebrew maiden would like _that_ name.” “Wherein doth it offend?” “It is derived from the name of a Grecian goddess.” “And therefore suitable for one as learned as Athene.” Vashti smilingly shook her golden tresses at the compliment. “I do not like the name,” she said, as she gently rocked Arad to sleep. So far Crispus’ experiment was a failure. There was nothing in her manner to suggest the hypothesis that she had been the veiled lady of Beth-tamar. Still, there seemed to be a sort of shadowy connection between her and the unknown Athenaïs. He reasoned thus:--Vashti was very like the statue of one, Pythodoris; that statue was the gift of Polemo; Polemo was he who had arranged the wedding of Athenaïs. Crispus resolved to proceed warily. “You appear to be well versed in Grecian history,” said he. “Can you tell me who Pythodoris was?” Vashti became lost in thought for a few moments, and then replied: “There was a queen of Pontus who bore that name. She died about thirty years ago.” “Any relation to the present king, Polemo?” “His mother.” “Was she a beautiful woman?” “I’m sure I don’t know,” laughed Vashti. “Why do you ask?” “There was a statue of her in the Prætorium.” “Then if you’ve seen it you ought to know whether she were beautiful.” “The statue was very like _you_.” “Oh! then she wasn’t _very_ beautiful.” “The statue was so like you that at first sight I thought it was meant for nobody else till the name Pythodoris, carved on the pedestal, corrected my error.” Vashti’s eyes opened wide in wonder. She could assign no reason why the statue of Pythodoris should resemble herself. “And she was the mother of the present king, you say? Have you ever seen this Polemo?” Vashti replied in the negative. “But he was present at the banquet of Florus.” “Then I suppose I must have seen him without knowing him,” replied Vashti; and, having succeeded in hushing her little brother to sleep, she carried him gently from the room. Something like a sigh escaped from Crispus as he realized that since Vashti did not know King Polemo she could not have been the veiled lady of Beth-tamar.