A SLAVE entered the of Ione. A messenger from Glaucus desired to be admitted.  
Ione hesitated an instant.
 
'She is blind, that messenger,' said the slave; 'she will do her commission to none but thee.'
 
Base is that heart which does not respect affliction! The moment she heard the messenger was blind, Ione felt the impossibility of returning a chilling reply. Glaucus had chosen a that was indeed sacred—a herald that could not be denied.
 
'What can he want with me? what message can he send?' and the heart of Ione beat quick. The curtain across the door was ; a soft and echoless step fell upon the marble; and Nydia, led by one of the attendants, entered with her precious gift.
 
She stood still a moment, as if listening for some sound that might direct her.
 
'Will the noble Ione,' said she, in a soft and low voice, ' to speak, that I may know whither to these steps, and that I may lay my offerings at her feet?'
 
'Fair child,' said Ione, touched and , 'give not thyself the pain to cross these slippery floors, my attendant will bring to me what thou hast to present'; and she motioned to the handmaid to take the vase.
 
'I may give these flowers to none but thee,' answered Nydia; and, guided by her ear, she walked slowly to the place where Ione sat, and kneeling when she came before her, the vase.
 
Ione took it from her hand, and placed it on the table at her side. She then raised her gently, and would have seated her on the couch, but the girl modestly resisted.
 
'I have not yet discharged my office,' said she; and she drew the letter of Glaucus from her vest. 'This will, perhaps, explain why he who sent me chose so unworthy a messenger to Ione.'
 
The Neapolitan took the letter with a hand, the trembling of which Nydia at once felt and sighed to feel. With folded arms, and downcast looks, she stood before the proud and stately form of Ione—no less proud, perhaps, in her attitude of . Ione waved her hand, and the attendants withdrew; she gazed again upon the form of the young slave in surprise and beautiful ; then, retiring a little from her, she opened and read the following letter:
 
'Glaucus to Ione sends more than he dares to utter. Is Ione ill? thy slaves tell me "No", and that assurance comforts me. Has Glaucus offended Ione?—ah! that question I may not ask from them. For five days I have been from thy presence. Has the sun shone?—I know it not. Has the sky smiled?—it has had no smile for me. My sun and my sky are Ione. Do I offend thee? Am I too bold? Do I say that on the tablet which my tongue has hesitated to breathe? ! it is in thine absence that I feel most the spells by which thou hast me. And absence, that deprives me of joy, brings me courage. Thou not see me; thou hast banished also the common flatterers that flock around thee. Canst thou confound me with them? It is not possible! Thou knowest too well that I am not of them—that their clay is not mine. For even were I of the humblest mould, the of the rose has me, and the spirit of thy nature hath passed within me, to , to sanctify, to inspire. Have they me to thee, Ione? Thou wilt not believe them. Did the Delphic itself tell me thou wert unworthy, I would not believe it; and am I less incredulous than thou I think of the last time we met—of the song which I sang to thee—of the look that thou gavest me in return. Disguise it as thou wilt, Ione, there is something kindred between us, and our eyes acknowledged it, though our lips were silent. Deign to see me, to listen to me, and after that exclude me if thou wilt. I meant not so soon to say I loved. But those words rush to my heart—they will have way. Accept, then, my and my . We met first at the of Pallas; shall we not meet before a softer and a more ancient altar?
 
'Beautiful! adored Ione! If my hot youth and my Athenian blood have misguided and me, they have but taught my wanderings to appreciate the rest—the they have . I hang up my dripping robes on the Sea-god's shrine. I have escaped . I have found THEE. Ione, deign to see me; thou art gentle to strangers, wilt thou be less merciful to those of thine own land? I await thy reply. Accept the flowers which I send—their sweet breath has a language more than words. They take from the sun the odorous they return—they are the of the love that receives and repays tenfold—the emblem of the heart that drunk thy rays, and owes to thee the germ of the treasures that it to thy smile. I send these by one whom thou wilt receive for her own sake, if not for mine. She, like us, is a stranger; her fathers' ashes lie under brighter skies: but, less happy than we, she is blind and a slave. Poor Nydia! I seek as much as possible to repair to her the cruelties of Nature and of Fate, in asking permission to place her with thee. She is gentle, quick, and . She is skilled in music and the song; and she is a very Chloris to the flowers. She thinks, Ione, that thou wilt love her: if thou dost not, send her back to me.
 
'One word more—let me be bold, Ione. Why thinkest thou so highly of yon dark Egyptian? he hath not about him the air of honest men. We Greeks learn mankind from our cradle; we are not the less profound, in that we affect no sombre ; our lips smile, but our eyes are grave—they observe—they note—they study. Arbaces is not one to be trusted: can it be that he hath wronged me to thee? I think it, for I left him with thee; thou sawest how my presence stung him; since then thou hast not admitted me. Believe nothing that he can say to my disfavor; if thou dost, tell me so at once; for this Ione owes to Glaucus. Farewell! this letter touches thy hand; these characters meet thine eyes—shall they be more blessed than he who is their author. Once more, farewell!'
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