e the Emperor's sleeping-room. His head rested on a
curved shield of stout cowhide under which lay his short sword; the bed
was but a hard one, but Mastor had for years been used to rest on nothing
better, and still had enjoyed the dreamless slumbers of a child; but
to-night sleep avoided him, and from time to time he pressed his hand on
his wearily open eyes to wipe away the salt dew which rose to them again
and again. For a long time he had restrained these tears bravely enough,
for the Emperor liked to see none but cheerful faces among his servants;
nay, he had once said that it was in consequence of his bright eyes that
he had entrusted to him the care of his person. Poor, cheerful Mastor! He
was nothing but a slave, still he had a heart which lay open to joy and
suffering, to pleasure and trouble, to hatred and to love.

In his childhood his native village had fallen into the hands of the foes
of his race. He and his brother had been carried away as slaves, first
into Asia Minor, and then as they were both particularly pretty
fair-haired boys, to Rome. There they had been bought for the Emperor;
Mastor had been chosen to wait on Hadrian's person, his brother had been
put to work in the gardens. Nothing was lacking to either except his
liberty; nothing tormented them but their longing for their native home,
and even this altogether faded away after he had married the pretty
little daughter of a superintendent of the gardens, a slave like himself.
She was a lively little woman with sparkling eyes, whom no one could pass
by without noticing.

The slave's duties left him but little time to enjoy the society of his
pretty partner and of the two children she bore him, but the
consciousness of possessing them made him happy when he followed his
master to the chase, or in the journeys through the empire. Now, for
seven months he had heard nothing of his family; but a short letter had
reached him at Pelusium, which had been sent with the despatches for the
Emperor from Ostia to Egypt. He could not read, and in consequence of the
Emperor's rapid travelling, it was not till he reached Lochias, that he
was put in possession of its contents.

Before going to rest Antinous had read him the letter, which had been
written for his brother by a public scribe, and its contents were enough
to wreck the heart even of a slave. His pretty little wife had fled from
her home and from the Emperor's service to follow a Greek ship's captain