ll the
trumpetblast from the seats attracted every eye upward, and the butchery
began.

Did the cry, "Stop, wretches!" really break from Melissa's lips, or had
she only intended to shout it down to the people in the stadium? She did
not know; but as she recollected the long rank of Numidians who, quick
as lightning, lifted their curved bows and sent a shower of arrows down
on the defenseless lads in the arena, she felt as though she had again
shrieked out: "Stop!" Then it seemed as though a storm of wind had torn
thousands of straight boughs with metallic leaves that flashed in the
sunshine from some huge invisible tree, and flung them into the arena;
and, as her eve followed their fall, she could have fancied that she
looked on a corn-field beaten down by a terrific hail-storm; but the
boughs and leaves were lances and arrows, and each ear of corn cut down
was a young and promising human being.

Zminis's preposterous suggestion had been acted on. Caracalla was
avenged on the youth of Alexandria.

Not a tongue could wag now in abuse; every pair of young lips which
had dared utter a scornful cry or purse up to whistle at the sight of
Caesar, was silenced forever-and, with the few guilty, a hundred times
more who were innocent. She knew now why the great gate had been barred
with beams, and why the troop had entered by the side-doors. The scene
of the brilliant display had become a lake of blood, full of the dead
and dying. Death had invaded the rows of seats; instead of laurel
wreaths and prizes, deadly weapons were showered down into the arena.
It seemed now as though the sun, with its blinding radiance, were
mercifully fain to hinder the human eye from looking down on the
horrible picture. To avoid the sickening sight. Melissa closed her eyes
and dragged herself to her feet with an effort, to hide herself she knew
not where.

But again there was a flourish of trumpets and loud acclamations, and
again an irresistible power dragged her to the window.

A splendid quadriga had stopped at the gate of the stadium, surrounded
by courtiers and guards. It was Caracalla's, for Pandion held the reins.
Could Caracalla approve of this most horrible crime, organized by the
wretch Zminis, by appearing on the scene; or might it not be that, in
his wrath at the bloodthirsty zeal of his vile tool, he had come to
dismiss him?

She hoped it was this; and, at any cost, she must know the truth as to
this question, which was not base