Nika was pale and worn, and scarcely spoke.
'What ails thee, dearest wife?' said Varro.
'Naught,' replied she; 'tired only. All night long have I watched through the storm. I knew by the signal-fires thou wert off the harbour mouth. Dost thou think I could rest when my lord rode on the top of crested waves, and the creaking timbers of the vessel sang omens fierce and loud? No, no; Nika is of different mould. My father is a warrior and a sailor, and ofttimes has he told me of the fearful perils of the seas.'
'Nika, thou art my darling wife! How hast thou fared during my absence? Hast thou longed for my coming?'
'Truly I have. And sometimes, when cloudy times were over me, I wished me dead rather than alone. Friends tried to cheer me; their work was but mockery, I well knowing naught but thy presence could fill the heart which has but room for one great joy—one which fills it to overflowing.'
'Thou lovest me too much, Nika.'
'Nika never loves but with all her soul,' replied she.
'Tell me, girl, how is our old friend Chios?'
'Chios? I have not seen him for many a day. I may say I have not seen him since thou left for Rome. I am told that strange being has turned voyager. It appears he took it into his head to visit Delos, and a trading-ship passing on its voyage thence called into this port, and Chios embarked.'
'Has he returned?'