Arbaces came nearer to her--his breath glowed fiercely on her cheek; he wound his arms round her--she sprang from his embrace. In the struggle a tablet fell from her bosom on the ground: Arbaces perceived, and seized it--it was the letter that morning received from Glaucus. Ione sank upon the couch, half dead with terror. Rapidly the eyes of Arbaces ran over the writing; the Neapolitan did not dare to gaze upon him: she did not see the deadly paleness that came over his countenance--she marked not his withering frown, nor the quivering of his lip, nor the convulsions that heaved his breast. He read it to the end, and then, as the letter fell from his hand, he said, in a voice of deceitful calmness: 'Is the writer of this the man thou lovest?' Ione sobbed, but answered not. 'Speak!' he rather shrieked than said. 'It is--it is! 'And his name--it is written here--his name is Glaucus!' Ione, clasping her hands, looked round as for succour or escape. 'Then hear me,' said Arbaces, sinking his voice into a whisper; 'thou shalt go to thy tomb rather than to his arms! What! thinkest thou Arbaces will brook a rival such as this puny Greek? What! thinkest thou that he has watched the fruit ripen, to yield it to another! Pretty fool--no! Thou art mine--all--only mine: and thus--thus I seize and claim thee!' As he spoke, he caught Ione in his arms; and, in that ferocious grasp, was all the energy--less of love than of revenge. But to Ione despair gave supernatural strength: she again tore herself from him--she rushed to that part of the room by which she had entered--she half withdrew the curtain--he had seized her--again she broke away from him--and fell, exhausted, and with a loud shriek, at the base of the column which supported the head of the Egyptian goddess. Arbaces paused for a moment, as if to regain his breath; and thence once more darted upon his prey. At that instant the curtain was rudely torn aside, the Egyptian felt a fierce and strong grasp upon his shoulder. He turned--he beheld before him the flashing eyes of Glaucus, and the pale, worn, but menacing, countenance of Apaecides. 'Ah,' he muttered, as he glared from one to the other, 'what Fury hath sent ye hither?'