alling--but, people of
Pompeii! ye know somewhat of the character of Calenus--he is griping and
gold-thirsty to a proverb; the witness of such men is to be bought!
Praetor, I am innocent!"

"Sallust," said the magistrate, "where found you Calenus?"

"In the dungeons of Arbaces."

"Egyptian," said the praetor, frowning, "thou didst, then, dare to
imprison a priest of the gods--and wherefore?"

[Illustration: NYDIA The blind flower-girl of Bulwer's Last Days of
Pompeii. Photogravure from a Painting by C. Von Bodenhausen.]

[Illustration]

"Hear me," answered Arbaces, rising calmly, but with agitation visible
in his face. "This man came to threaten that he would make against me
the charge he has now made, unless I would purchase his silence with
half my fortune; I remonstrated--in vain. Peace there--let not the
priest interrupt me! Noble praetor--and ye, O people! I was a stranger in
the land--I knew myself innocent of crime--but the witness of a
priest against me might yet destroy me. In my perplexity I decoyed him
to the cell whence he has been released, on pretense that it was the
coffer-house of my gold. I resolved to detain him there until the fate
of the true criminal was sealed and his threats could avail no longer;
but I meant no worse. I may have erred--but who among ye will not
acknowledge the equity of self-preservation? Were I guilty, why was the
witness of this priest silent at the trial?--_then_ I had not detained
or concealed him. Why did he not proclaim my guilt when I proclaimed
that of Glaucus? Praetor, this needs an answer. For the rest, I throw
myself on your laws. I demand their protection. Remove hence the accused
and the accuser. I will willingly meet, and cheerfully abide by the
decision of, the legitimate tribunal. This is no place for
further parley."

"He says right." said the praetor. "Ho! guards--remove Arbaces--guard
Calenus! Sallust, we hold you responsible for your accusation. Let the
sports be resumed."

"What!" cried Calenus, turning round to the people, "shall Isis be thus
contemned? Shall the blood of Apaecides yet cry for vengeance? Shall
justice be delayed now, that it may be frustrated hereafter? Shall the
lion be cheated of his lawful prey? A god! a god!--I feel the god rush
to my lips! _To the lion--to the lion with Arbaces_!"

His exhausted frame could support no longer the ferocious malice of the
priest; he sank on the ground in strong convulsions; the foam gathered
to