When he ascended the cliff he found everything quiet. No one, not even Dione, came to meet him.
What had happened here?
Had the fugitives been discovered and dragged with his family to the city to be thrown into prison, perhaps sent to the stone quarries?
Deadly pale, but erect and composed, he walked towards the house. He owed to Dion and his father the greatest blessing in life, liberty, and the foundation of everything else he possessed. But if his fears were verified, if he was bereft of friends and property, even as a lonely beggar he might continue to enjoy his freedom. If, for the sake of those to whom he owed his best possession, he must surrender the rest, it was his duty to bear fate patiently.
It was still light.
Even when he had approached very near the house he heard no sound save the joyous barking of his wolf-hound, Argus, which leaped upon him.
He now laid his hand upon the lock of the door—but it was flung open from the inside.
Dion had seen him coming and, enraptured by the new happiness with which this day had blessed him, he flung himself impetuously on the breast of his faithful friend, exclaiming: “A boy, a splendid boy! We will call him Pyrrhus.”
Bright tears of joy streamed down the freedman’s face and fell on his grey beard; and when his wife came towards him with her finger on her lips, he whispered in a tremulous voice: “When I brought them here you were afraid that the city people would drag us into ruin, but nevertheless you received them as they deserved to be, and—he’s going to name him Pyrrhus—and now!—What has a poor fellow like me done to have such great and beautiful blessings fall to my lot?”
“And I—I?” sobbed his wife. “And the child, the darling little creature!”