This conversation took place in Greek, so was therefore quite unintelligible to Maurice, who looked from the one to the other in astonishment. On seeing this, Justinian turned towards him with a courteous apology, and restored the portrait. “As Andros gave you this, I will not deprive you of it, Mr. Roylands,” he said politely; “but shortly I hope to present you to the original.” “Now?” asked Maurice eagerly. “No; you must go and sleep this afternoon,” replied Justinian authoritatively; “and you also, Crispin. After your dangers of last night, you must be quite worn out.” “Well, the bath and a meal have done wonders,” said Crispin, yawning; “but I must say a few hours’ sleep would complete the cure.” “And when will we see Helena?” demanded Roylands persistently. “This evening,” answered Justinian, taking him by the hand. “We must be good friends, Mr. Roylands, for I like your face. Tell me, do you resemble your father or your mother most?” “My mother,” said Maurice, rather astonished at this strange question. Justinian looked at him steadily, then, dropping his hand with a sigh, turned away, as if to conceal some sudden emotion. After a time he recovered himself, and spoke sharply, as if to atone for his faint-heartedness. “Come, come, gentlemen, be off to your rooms!” he said testily; “sleep is what you need.” “And Helena!” said Crispin, as he and Maurice left the court. “And Helena!” repeated Justinian in a satisfied tone; “yes, this is her husband, not Andros.” CHAPTER XVIII. VENUS URANIA. To rose-red sky, from rose-red sea, At rose-red dawn she came, A fiery rose of earth to be, And light the dark with flame; Then earth and sky triumphantly Rang loud with men’s acclaim. A rose art thou, O goddess fair, And bloom as men aspire,— Red rose to those whom passions snare, White rose to chaste desire; Yet red rose wanes with pale despair, And white rose burns as fire.