ever beautiful, and in becoming mistress of the villa she had realized one of her cherished dreams.
In the midst of this simple, home-like scene, a servant appeared in the doorway, and spoke to her. "A woman in the atrium to speak with the mistress."
"Let her come. I will receive her here."
Presently the stranger entered. At sight of her the Jewess arose, and was about to speak; then she hesitated, changed color, and finally drew back, saying, "I have known you, good woman. You are—"
"I was Iras, the daughter of Balthasar."
Esther conquered her surprise, and bade the servant bring the Egyptian a seat.
"No," said Iras, coldly. "I will retire directly."
The two gazed at each other. We know what Esther presented—a beautiful woman, a happy mother, a contented wife. On the other side, it was very plain that fortune had not dealt so gently with her former rival. The tall figure remained with some of its grace; but an evil life had tainted the whole person. The face was coarse; the large eyes were red and pursed beneath the lower lids; there was no color in her cheeks. The lips were cynical and hard, and general neglect was leading rapidly to premature old age. Her attire was ill chosen and draggled. The mud of the road clung to her sandals. Iras broke the painful silence.
"These are thy children?"
Esther looked at them, and smiled.
"Yes. Will you not speak to them?"
"I would scare them," Iras replied. Then she drew closer to Esther, and, seeing her shrink, said, "Be not afraid. Give thy husband a message for me. Tell him his enemy is dead, and that for the much misery he brought me I slew him."
"His enemy!"
"The Messala. Further, tell thy husband that for the harm I sought to do him I have been punished until even he would pity me."
Tears arose in Esther’s eyes, and she was about to speak.
