A short time ago Hermon would have declared it impossible that he could ever become so happy during this period of conflict and separation from the object of his love.
The thought of his lost inheritance doubtless flitted through his mind, but it seemed merely like worthless dust, and the certainty that Myrtilus still walked among the living filled him with unclouded happiness. Even though he could no longer see him, he might expect to hear his beloved voice again. Oh, what delight that he was permitted to have his friend once more, as well as Daphne, that he could meet him so freely and joyously and keep the laurel, which had rested with such leaden weight upon his head, for Myrtilus, and for him alone!
But where was he?
What was the name of the miracle which had saved him, and yet kept him away from his embrace so long?
How had Myrtilus and Bias escaped the flames and death on that night of horror?
A flood of questions assailed the slave before he could begin a connected account, and Hermon constantly interrupted it to ask for details concerning his friend and his health at each period and on every occasion.
Much surprised by his discreet manner, the artist listened to the bondman’s narrative; for though Bias had formerly allowed himself to indulge in various little familiarities toward his master, he refrained from them entirely in this story, and the blind man’s misfortune invested him in his eyes with a peculiar sacredness.
CHAPTER X.
He had arrived wounded on the pirate ship with his master’s friend, the returned bondman began. When he had regained consciousness, he met Ledscha on board the Hydra, as the wife of the pirate Hanno. She had nursed Myrtilus with tireless solicitude, and also often cared for his, Bias’s, wounds. After the recovery of the prisoners, she became their protectress, and placed Bias in the service of the Greek artist.