'O flamen of Isis!' cried Nydia; 'servant of the Most Ancient, hear me!' 'Who calls?' said a low and melancholy voice. 'One who has no common tidings to impart to a member of your body: I come to declare and not to ask oracles.' 'With whom wouldst thou confer? This is no hour for thy conference; depart, disturb me not; the night is sacred to the gods, the day to men.' 'Methinks I know thy voice? thou art he whom I seek; yet I have heard thee speak but once before. Art thou not the priest Apaecides?' 'I am that man,' replied the priest, emerging from the altar, and approaching the rail. 'Thou art! the gods be praised!' Waving her hand to the slave, she bade him withdraw to a distance; and he, who naturally imagined some superstition connected, perhaps, with the safety of Ione, could alone lead her to the temple, obeyed, and seated himself on the ground, at a little distance. 'Hush!' said she, speaking quick and low; 'art thou indeed Apaecides?' 'If thou knowest me, canst thou not recall my features?' 'I am blind,' answered Nydia; 'my eyes are in my ear, and that recognizes thee: yet swear that thou art he.' 'By the gods I swear it, by my right hand, and by the moon!' 'Hush! speak low--bend near--give me thy hand; knowest thou Arbaces? Hast thou laid flowers at the feet of the dead? Ah! thy hand is cold--hark yet!--hast thou taken the awful vow?' 'Who art thou, whence comest thou, pale maiden?' said Apaecides, fearfully: 'I know thee not; thine is not the breast on which this head hath lain; I have never seen thee before.' 'But thou hast heard my voice: no matter, those recollections it should shame us both to recall. Listen, thou hast a sister.' 'Speak! speak! what of her?' 'Thou knowest the banquets of the dead, stranger--it pleases thee, perhaps, to share them--would it please thee to have thy sister a partaker? Would it please thee that Arbaces was her host?' 'O gods, he dare not! Girl, if thou mockest me, tremble! I will tear thee limb from limb!' 'I speak the truth; and while I speak, Ione is in the halls of Arbaces--for the first time his guest. Thou knowest if there be peril in that first time! Farewell! I have fulfilled my charge.' 'Stay! stay!' cried the priest, passing his wan hand over his brow. 'If this be true, what--what can be done to save her? They may not admit me. I know not all the mazes of that intricate mansion. O Nemesis! justly am I punished!' 'I will dismiss yon slave, be thou my guide and comrade; I will lead thee to the private door of the house: I will whisper to thee the word which admits. Take some weapon: it may be needful!'