le; a chariot was in
waiting to convey her to the Serapeum. On this she humbly represented
that she would rather be permitted to return under her brother's escort
to her father's house, and Caracalla cheerfully acceded. He had business
on hand this night, which made it seem desirable to him that she should
not be too near him. He should expect her brother presently at the
Serapeum.

With his own hand he wrapped her in the caracalla and hood which old
Adventus was about to put on his master's shoulders, remarking, as he
did so, that he had weathered worse storms in the field.

Melissa thanked him with a blush, and, going close up to her, he
whispered: "To-morrow, if Fate grants us gracious answers to the
questions I shall put to her presently after this storm--tomorrow the
horn of happiness will be filled to overflowing for you and me. The
thrifty goddess promises to be lavish to me through you."

Slaves were standing round with lighted lanterns; for the torches in the
theatre were all extinguished, and the darkened auditorium lay like
an extinct crater, in which a crowd of indistinguishable figures were
moving to and fro. It reminded him of Hades and a troop of descending
spirits; but he would not allow anything but what was pleasant to occupy
his mind or eye. By a sudden impulse he took a lantern from one of
the attendants, held it up above Melissa's head, and gazed long and
earnestly into her brightly illuminated face. Then he dropped his hand
with a sigh and said, as though speaking in a dream: "Yes, this is life!
Now I begin to live."

He lifted the dripping laurel crown from his head, tossed it into
the arena, and added to Melissa: "Now, get under shelter at once,
sweetheart. I have been able to see you this whole evening, even when
the lamps were out; for lightning gives light. Thus even the storm has
brought me joy. Sleep well. I shall expect you early, as soon as I have
bathed."

Melissa wished him sound slumbers, and he replied, lightly:

"If only all life were a dream, and if to-morrow I might but wake up,
no longer the son of Severus, but Alexander; and you, not Melissa, but
Roxana, whom you so strongly resemble! To be sure I might find myself
the gladiator Tarautas. But, then, who would you be? And your stalwart
father, who stands there defying the rain, certainly does not look like
a vision, and this storm is not favorable to philosophizing."

He kissed his hand to her, had a dry caracalla thrown ov