Arbaces was one of those haughty and powerful spirits accustomed to master others; he chafed at the notion that one once his own should ever elude his grasp.

He swore inly that Apaecides should not escape him.
It was with this resolution that he passed through a thick grove in the city, which lay between his house and that of Ione, in his way to the latter; and there, leaning against a tree, and gazing on the ground, he came unawares on the young priest of Isis.
'Apaecides!' said he--and he laid his hand affectionately on the young man's shoulder.
The priest started; and his first instinct seemed to be that of flight.
'My son,' said the Egyptian, 'what has chanced that you desire to shun me ?' Apaecides remained silent and sullen, looking down on the earth, as his lips quivered, and his breast heaved with emotion.
'Speak to me, my friend,' continued the Egyptian.

'Speak.

Something burdens thy spirit.

What hast thou to reveal ?' 'To thee--nothing.' 'And why is it to me thou art thus unconfidential ?' 'Because thou hast been my enemy.' 'Let us confer,' said Arbaces, in a low voice; and drawing the reluctant arm of the priest in his own, he led him to one of the seats which were scattered within the grove.