ito's
huddled in the violated garden, amid the tangle of wrecked vines and
trampled shrubbery; and those of many slaves. The storerooms had been
looted, and broken amphorae and the remains of food showed where drunken
orgies had been held. In the Hall of Columns every article of gold or
silver had been carried off. Priceless vessels in embossed and enamelled
glass lay shattered into fragments; even some of the bronze lamps were
gone. Velvet covers had been stripped from the couches; the table was
drenched in spilled wine. A bust of the Emperor which had stood on its
marble pedestal at the end of the hall lay upon the floor, mutilated
almost beyond recognition--work of Romans, this, of the insurgents who
refused to acknowledge the divinity of their temporal lord and
sovereign.

Nicanor stood in the doorway, the lone living figure in a great
desolation. All his fears and uncertainties were written in his face.
When had this thing happened? What had become of his lord and his lord's
guests? And his lady, what of her? Had the relief from the mine been in
time, and why were there no signs of them? What had become of the
invaders, and why had all living things so completely disappeared? And
where were the stationarii, that they had not taken possession of the
place in the name of the law?

He went back to those rooms which had been his lady's, torn with bitter
doubt and dread. He walked reverently among the things which had been
hers, as one who treads on holy ground, touching with his hands a chair
over which was flung a rug of snowy furs, as though she had just left
it--a table covered with bottles and perfume pots. And beside the couch
where she had lain he dropped upon his knees and hid his face in the
silken covers.

Heavy footsteps echoed outside in the empty corridor, and Nicanor
started to his feet, a hand on his knife. A man entered, stepping over
Nerissa's body, and stopped short. By his dress, his iron helmet, and
short sword, Nicanor knew him for a stationarius. This one, recovering
from his surprise, advanced quickly.

"So, fellow, I've caught you red-handed!" he cried, and grasped
Nicanor's shoulder. Nicanor winced at the touch, but made no effort to
get away.

"There is no need of that," he said quietly. "I am my lord's man, slave
in this house until a month ago." His collar of brass, with its graven
name, bore evidence to his words. "I pray you tell me of what hath
happened here, and of my lord, and his