ughter of
his neighbor Skopas, pretty Ino, whom but a few days since he had vowed
to love. He was conscious of having treated her badly, and given her the
right to call him faithless. Toward her, indeed, he had been guilty of
treachery, and it had really weighed on his soul. Their eyes met, and she
gave him to understand in the plainest way that she had heard him
stigmatized as Caesar's spy, and had believed the calumny. The mere sight
of him seemed to fill her with anger, and she did her utmost to show him
that she had quickly found a substitute for him; and it was to Alexander,
no doubt, that Ktesias, her young kinsman, who had long paid her his
addresses, owed the kindliness with which Ino now gazed into his eyes.
This was some comfort to the luckless, banished lover. On her account, at
any rate, he need reproach himself no longer. Diodoros was sitting
opposite to him, and his attention, too, was frequently interrupted.

The flashing swords and torches in the hands of the Spirits of Light, and
the dimly gleaming stars above their heads, had not so far dispelled the
darkness as that the two young people could identify each other.
Diodoros, indeed, even throughout this absorbing fight, had frequently
glanced at the imperial seats, but had failed to distinguish his beloved
from the other women in Caracalla's immediate vicinity. But it now grew
lighter, for, while the battle was as yet undecided, a fresh bark, full
of Spirits of Light, flourishing their torches, was unexpectedly launched
to support their comrades, and Heaven seemed to have sent them forth to
win the fight, which had already lasted longer than the masters of the
ceremonies had thought possible.

The wild shouts of the combatants and the yells of the wounded had long
since drowned the soft music of the spheres above their heads. The call
of tubas and bugles rang without ceasing through the great building, to
the frequent accompaniment of the most horrible sound of all in this
hideous spectacle--the heavy fall of a dead man dropping from above into
the gulf.

But this dreadful thud was what gave rise to the loudest applause among
the spectators, falling on their satiated ears as a new sound. This
frenzied fight in the air, such as had never before been seen, gave rise
to the wildest delight, for it led the eye, which was wont in this place
to gaze downward, in a direction in which it had never yet been
attracted. And what a glorious spectacle it was when