cut off his hair, and he himself had disguised his features
with streaks of paint. A large, broad-brimmed hat had slipped to the
back of his head like a drunken man's, and covered a wound from which
the red blood flowed down upon his neck. His whole aspect breathed pain
and horror, and Berenike, who took him for a hired cut-throat sent by
Caracalla, retreated hastily from him till Johanna revealed his name.

He nodded his head in confirmation, and then sank exhausted on his knees
beside Apollinaris's couch and managed with great difficulty to stammer
out: "I am searching for Philip. He went into the town-ill-out of his
senses. Did he not come to you?"

"No," answered Berenike. "But what is this fresh blood? Has the
slaughter begun?"

The wounded man nodded. Then he continued, with a groan: "In front
of the house of your neighbor Milon--the back of my head--I fled--a
lance--"

His voice failed him, and Berenike cried to the tribune: "Support
him, Nemesianus! Look after him and tend him. He is the brother of the
maiden--you know--If I know you, you will do all in your power for him,
and keep him hidden here till all danger is over."

"We will defend him with our lives!" cried Apollinaris, giving his hand
to the lady.

But he withdrew it quickly, for from the impluvium arose the rattle of
arms, and loud, confused noise.

Berenike threw up her head and lifted her hands as if in prayer. Her
bosom heaved with her deep breath, the delicate nostrils quivered, and
the great eyes flashed with wrathful light. For a moment she stood thus
silent, then let her arms fall, and cried to the tribunes:

"My curse be upon you if you forget what you owe to yourselves, to the
Roman Empire, and to your dying friend. My blessing, if you hold fast to
what you have promised."

She pressed their hands, and, turning to do the same to the artist,
found that he had lost consciousness. Johanna and Nemesianus had removed
his hat and caracalla, to attend to his wound.

A strange smile passed over the matron's stern features. Snatching
the Gallic mantle from the Christian's hand, she threw it over her own
shoulders, exclaiming:

"How the ruffian will wonder when, instead of the living woman, they
bring him a corpse wrapped in his barbarian's mantle!"

She pressed the hat upon her head, and from a corner of the room where
the brothers' weapons stood, selected a hunting-spear. She asked if this
weapon might be recognized as belonging to the