"Yes, sir," replied the girl; "it was you that were so kind to us about Cephalus."
"You ought to have remembered, then, to call me not 'sir' but brother; or, better still, Cleanor. But now about food. This will be better than nothing for the present."
He produced from the pack which he carried some twice-baked bread, something like what we call biscuit, and some strips of dried goat's flesh. It was pitiful to see how the girl tried to hide the eager look which would come into her eyes at the sight of the food. The elder woman had almost ceased to care for life, but youth protests against suffering and will make its voice heard.
"CLEANOR PRODUCED FROM THE PACK WHICH HE CARRIED SOME TWICE-BAKED BREAD."
The meal was not abundant. Cleanor's prudence restricted the supply, because he feared the reaction after a long period of starvation. When it was finished he said, "Now, let us see what is to be done."
"We heard you were dead," began Theoxena—"killed, too, so they said, by our own people. The gods be thanked a thousand times that it isn't true!"
"Well," said Cleanor, "that is past and done with. We won't talk about what other people have done or tried to do. Here I am alive, and hoping to keep alive in spite of them, and I have come to see what I can do for you."
"But what do you mean?" cried the woman. "Where have you been? Where do you come from?"
"Well," replied Cleanor, "I came from Egypt last of all, and before that I was in the Roman camp, where I found, I am bound to say, very kind friends."