him? How dare I, a common man--"

The lady came closer to him, and whispered:

"You will perform this deed to which I have appointed you in the name
of all the just. We demand nothing from you but your sword. Greater men
than you--the two Aurelians--will guide it. At their word of command
you will do the deed. When they give you the signal, brave Martialis,
remember the unfortunate woman in Alexandria whose death you swore to
revenge. As soon as the tribunes--"

But the centurion was suddenly transformed. "If the tribunes command
it," he interrupted with decision, his dull eye flashing--"if they
demand it of me, I do it willingly. Tell them Martialis's sword is
ever at their service. It has made short work of stronger men than that
vicious stripling."

Berenike gave the soldier her hand, thanked him hurriedly, and begged
him, as he could pass unharmed through the city, to hasten to her
husband's counting-house by the water-side, to warn him and carry him
her last greetings.

With tears in his eyes Martialis did as she desired. When he had gone,
the steward began to implore his mistress to conceal herself, and
not cast away God's gift of life so sinfully; but she turned from him
resolutely though kindly, and repaired once more to the brothers' room.

One glance at them disclosed to her that they had come to no definite
conclusion; but their hesitation vanished as soon as they heard that the
centurion was ready to draw his sword upon the emperor when they
should give the signal; and Berenike breathed a sigh of relief at this
resolution, and clasped their hands in gratitude.

They, too, implored her to conceal herself, but she merely answered:

"May your youth grow into happy old age! Life can offer me nothing
more, since my child was taken from me--But time presses--I welcome the
murderers, now that I know that revenge will not sleep."

"And your husband?" interposed Nemesianus.

She answered with a bitter smile: "He? He has the gift of being easily
consoled.--But what was that?"

Loud voices were audible outside the sick-room. Nemesianus stationed
himself in front of the lady, sword in hand. This protection, however,
proved unnecessary, for, instead of the praetorians, Johanna entered the
room, supporting on her arm the half-sinking form of a young man in whom
no one would have recognized the once beautifully curled and carefully
dressed Alexander. A long caracalla covered his tall form; Dido the
slave had