ARBACES was seated in a which opened on a kind of balcony or that fronted his garden. His cheek was pale and worn with the sufferings he had endured, but his iron frame had already recovered from the severest effects of that accident which had his fell designs in the moment of victory. The air that came to his brow revived his languid senses, and the blood circulated more freely than it had done for days through his shrunken .  
'So, then,' thought he, 'the storm of fate has broken and blown over—the evil which my predicted, threatening life itself, has chanced—and yet I live! It came as the stars ; and now the long, bright, and prosperous career which was to succeed that evil, if I survived it, smiles beyond: I have passed—I have the latest danger of my destiny. Now I have but to lay out the gardens of my future fate—unterrified and secure. First, then, of all my pleasures, even before that of love, shall come revenge! This boy Greek—who has crossed my passion—thwarted my designs—baffled me even when the blade was about to drink his accursed blood—shall not a second time escape me! But for the method of my ? Of that let me ponder well! Oh! Ate, if thou art indeed a goddess, fill me with thy direst Inspiration!' The Egyptian sank into an intent reverie, which did not seem to present to him any clear or satisfactory suggestions. He changed his position restlessly, as he scheme after scheme, which no sooner occurred than it was dismissed: several times he struck his breast and aloud, with the desire of vengeance, and a sense of his impotence to accomplish it. While thus absorbed, a boy slave timidly entered the chamber.
 
A female, evidently of rank from her dress, and that of the single slave who attended her, waited below and sought an audience with Arbaces.
 
'A female!' his heart beat quick. 'Is she young?'
 
'Her face is by her veil; but her form is slight, yet round, as that of youth.'
 
'Admit her,' said the Egyptian: for a moment his vain heart dreamed the stranger might be Ione.
 
The first glance of the visitor now entering the apartment sufficed to undeceive so a fancy. True, she was about the same height as Ione, and perhaps the same age—true, she was finely and richly formed—but where was that undulating and grace which accompanied every motion of the peerless Neapolitan—the and decorous , so simple even in the care of its arrangement—the yet bashful step—the of womanhood and its ?
 
'Pardon me that I rise with pain,' said Arbaces, gazing on the stranger: 'I am still suffering from recent illness.'
 
'Do not disturb thyself, O great Egyptian!' returned Julia, seeking to disguise the fear she already experienced beneath the ready resort of flattery; 'and forgive an unfortunate female, who seeks from thy wisdom.'
 
'Draw near, fair stranger,' said Arbaces; 'and speak without or reserve.'
 
Julia placed herself on a seat beside the Egyptian, and wonderingly gazed around an apartment whose elaborate and luxuries shamed even the ornate enrichment of her father's ; fearfully, too, she regarded the on the walls—the faces of the mysterious images, which at every corner gazed upon her—the tripod at a little distance—and, above all, the grave and of Arbaces himself: a long white robe like a veil half covered his locks, and flowed to his feet: his face was made even more impressive by its present paleness; and his dark and eyes seemed to pierce the shelter of her veil, and explore the secrets of her vain and unfeminine soul.
 
'And what,' said his low, deep voice, 'brings thee, O ! to the house of the Eastern stranger?'
 
'His fame,' replied Julia.
 
'In what?' said he, with a strange and slight smile.
 
'Canst thou ask, O wise Arbaces? Is not thy knowledge the very gossip theme of Pompeii?'
 
'Some little lore have I indeed, treasured up,' replied Arbaces: 'but in what can such serious and secrets benefit the ear of beauty?'
 
'!' said Julia, a little cheered by the accustomed accents of adulation; 'does not sorrow fly to wisdom for relief, and they who love unrequitedly, are not they the chosen victims of grief?'
 
'Ha!' said Arbaces, 'can unrequited love be the lot of so fair a form, whose modelled proportions are visible even beneath the folds of thy robe? , O maiden! to lift thy veil, that I may see at least if the face correspond in loveliness with the form.'
 
Not , perhaps, to exhibit her charms, and thinking they were likely to interest the magician in her fate, Julia, after some slight , raised her veil, and revealed a beauty which, but for art, had been indeed attractive to the gaze of the Egyptian.
 
'Thou comest to me for advice in unhappy love,' said he; 'well, turn that face on the ungrateful one: what other love-charm can I give thee?'
 
'Oh, cease these courtesies!' said Julia; 'it is a love-charm, indeed, that I would ask from thy skill!'
 
'Fair stranger!' replied Arbaces, somewhat scornfully, 'love-spells are not among the secrets I have wasted the midnight oil to .'
 
'Is it indeed so? Then pardon me, great Arbaces, and farewell!'
 
'Stay,' said Arbaces, who, despite his passion for Ione, was not unmoved by the beauty of his visitor; and had he been in the flush of a more assured health, might have attempted to console the fair Julia by other means than those of supernatural wisdom.
 
'Stay; although I confess that I have left the witchery of p............