espicable
advantages; and steadily keeping his trident at the front of his foe, he
repelled him successfully for several minutes.

Sporus now tried by great rapidity of evolution to get round his
antagonist, who necessarily moved with pain and slowness. In so doing he
lost his caution--he advanced too near to the giant--raised his arm to
strike, and received the three points of the fatal spear full in his
breast! He sank on his knee. In a moment more the deadly net was cast
over him,--he struggled against its meshes in vain; again--again--again
he writhed mutely beneath the fresh strokes of the trident--his blood
flowed fast through the net and redly over the sand. He lowered his arms
in acknowledgment of defeat.

The conquering retiarius withdrew his net, and leaning on his spear,
looked to the audience for their judgment. Slowly, too, at the same
moment, the vanquished gladiator rolled his dim and despairing eyes
around the theatre. From row to row, from bench to bench, there glared
upon him but merciless and unpitying eyes.

Hushed was the roar--the murmur! The silence was dread, for in it was no
sympathy; not a hand--no, not even a woman's hand--gave the signal of
charity and life! Sporus had never been popular in the arena; and lately
the interest of the combat had been excited on behalf of the wounded
Niger. The people were warmed into blood--the _mimic_ fight had ceased
to charm; the interest had mounted up to the desire of sacrifice and the
thirst of death!

The gladiator felt that his doom was sealed; he uttered no prayer--no
groan. The people gave the signal of death! In dogged but agonized
submission he bent his neck to receive the fatal stroke. And now, as the
spear of the retiarius was not a weapon to inflict instant and certain
death, there stalked into the arena a grim and fatal form, brandishing a
short, sharp sword, and with features utterly concealed beneath its
visor. With slow and measured step this dismal headsman approached the
gladiator, still kneeling--laid the left hand on his humbled crest--drew
the edge of the blade across his neck--turned round to the assembly,
lest, in the last moment, remorse should come upon them; the dread
signal continued the same; the blade glittered brightly in the
air--fell--and the gladiator rolled upon the sand: his limbs
quivered--were still--he was a corpse.

His body was dragged at once from the arena through the gate of death,
and thrown into the gloomy de