o Canopus and there detained and brought up for
trial.

Pollux had unhesitatingly owned to having taken the silver quiver and to
having been very angry at his master's accusation. Thus he produced from
the first an unfavorable impression on the judge, who esteemed Papias as
a wealthy man, universally respected. The accused had hardly been allowed
to speak at all and judgment was immediately pronounced against him, on
the strength of his master's accusation and his own admissions. It would
have been sheer waste of time to listen to the romances with which this
audacious rascal--who forgot all the respect he owed to his teacher and
benefactor--wanted to cram the judges. Two years of reflection, the
protectors of the law deemed, might suffice to teach this dangerous
fellow to respect the property of others and to keep him from outbreaks
against those to whom he owed gratitude and reverence.

Pollux, safe in the prison at Canopus, cursed his destiny and indulged in
vain hopes of the assistance of his friends. These were at last weary of
the vain search and only asked about him occasionally. He at first was so
insubordinate under restraint that he was put under close ward from which
he was not released until, instead of raging with fury he dreamed away
his days in sullen brooding. The gaoler knew men well, and he thought he
could safely predict that at the end of his two years' imprisonment this
young thief would quit his cell a harmless imbecile.

Titianus, Pontius, Balbilla and even Antinous had all attempted to speak
of him to the Emperor, but each was sharply repulsed and taught that
Hadrian was little inclined to pardon a wound to his artist's vanity. But
the sovereign also proved that he had a good memory for benefits he had
received, for once, when a dish was set before him consisting of cabbage
and small sausages he smiled, and taking out his purse filled with gold
pieces, he ordered a chamberlain to take it in his name to Doris, the
wife of the evicted gate-keeper. The old couple now resided in a little
house of their own in the neighborhood of their widowed daughter Diotima.
Hunger and external misery came not nigh them, still they had experienced
a great change. Poor Doris' eyes were now red and bloodshot, for they
were accustomed to many tears, which were seldom far off and overflowed
whenever a word, an object, a thought reminded her of Pollux, her
darling, her pride and her hope; and there were few half-hours