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It cannot be; we are on our way home to Cappadocia.

And what has driven you in such haste from Greece?

My mother is a widow, Julian!

My father is feeble, both in body and mind; he needs my support.

Oh, at least remain at the hostelry; only until to-morrow!

Impossible; our travelling companions start at daybreak.

At daybreak? Before midnight the day might dawn for you.

Julian, let me not set forth in too great sorrow of soul. Tell me,—when Maximus has interpreted all riddles for you,—what then?

Do you remember that river whereof Strabo writes—that river which rises in the Lybian mountains? It grows, and grows in its course; but when it is at its greatest, it oozes into the desert sands, and buries itself in the entrails of the earth, whence it arose.