pain. Then he sadly shook his head and gazed up at the walls
of the court, which had been decorated in his honor with hangings and
garlands of flowers. First he studied the frieze and the festal display
on his right, and when he turned his head to look at the side where
Melissa stood, an inward voice bade her withdraw, that the gaze of this
monster might not blight her. But an irresistible attraction held her
fast; then suddenly she felt as if the ground were sinking from under
her feet, and, as a shipwrecked wretch snatches at a floating spar, she
clung to the little column at the left of the window, clutching it with
her hand; for the dreadful thing had happened-Caracalla's eye had met
hers and had even rested on her for a while! And that gaze had nothing
bloodthirsty in it, nor the vile leer which had sparkled in the eyes
of the drunken rioters she had met last night in the streets; he only
looked astonished as at some wonderful thing which he had not expected
to see in this place. But presently a fresh attack of pain apparently
made him turn away, for his features betrayed acute suffering, as he
slowly set his foot on the next step below.

Again, and more closely, he pressed his hand to his brow, and then
beckoned to a tall, well-built man with flowing hair, who walked behind
him, and accepted the support of his offered arm.

"Theocritus, formerly an actor and dancer," the priest whispered to
Melissa. "Caesar's whim made the mimic a senator, a legate, and a
favorite."

But Melissa only knew that he was speaking, and did not take in the
purport of his speech; for this man, slowly descending the steps,
absorbed her whole sympathy. She knew well the look of those who suffer
and conceal it from the eyes of the world; and some cruel disease was
certainly consuming this youth, who ruled the earth, but whose purple
robes would be snatched at soon enough by greedy hands if he should
cease to seem strong and able. And now, again, he looked old and
worn--poor wretch, who yet was so young and born to be so abundantly
happy! He was, to be sure, a base and blood-stained tyrant, but not the
less a miserable and unhappy man. The more severe the pain he had to
endure, the harder must he find it to hide it from the crowd who were
constantly about him. There is but one antidote to hatred, and that is
pity; it was with the eager compassion of a woman's heart that
Melissa marked every movement of the imperial murderer, as soon as she