ure to her. She did not allow this feeling to be restrained even by the remembrance of how much Cleon and herself, indeed, the whole city of Tharsus, owed to the father of this young girl, nor did the sweet disposition of Marina in the least soften her heart; indeed, it served still more to steel it against her.
About this time, when Marina was nearly fourteen, and according to the custom of the country in which she lived, nearly of marriageable age, her old nurse Lychorida was taken ill and died. Marina had felt the growing coldness of Dionyza, and had clung with all the tenderness of her nature to this one dear old friend, as the only remembrance left her of her dead mother and absent father. When she died, her grief passed all bounds, and she could not be comforted. She went every day to weep over the grave of her old nurse, and to strew it with flowers.
While she was bent on the daily fulfillment of these pious rites, the wicked and ungrateful Dionyza conceived a fearful project. She had so long nourished her hatred of Marina, that it was only a short step to crime. Seeing how lonely and unprotected Marina remained, she plotted to take her life. She instructed one of her servants, a low villain, to join her in one of her walks, and drawing her into some lonely
