he troops, and Septimius, the
tribune, who belonged to the Roman garrison in Alexandria, and who, I
knew, had served under Pompey and owed him many favours, had entered a
boat and put off to the vessel, which could not come nearer the land on
account of the shallow water.

"The conference now began, and Achillas's offer of hospitality must have
been very warm and well calculated to inspire confidence, for a tall
lady--it was Cornelia, the wife of the Imperator--waved her hand to him
in token of gratitude."

Here the speaker paused, drew a long breath, and, pressing his hand to
his brow, continued "What follows--alas, that it was my fate to witness
the dreadful scene! How often a garbled account has been given, and yet
the whole was so terribly simple!

"Fortune makes her favourites confiding. Pompey was also. Though more
than fifty years old--he lacked two years of sixty--he sprang into the
boat quickly enough, with merely a little assistance from a freedman. A
sailor--he was a negro--shoved the skiff off from the side of the huge
ship as violently as if the pole he used for the purpose was a spear,
and the galley his foe. The boat, urged by his companions' oars, had
already moved forward, and he stumbled, the brown cap falling from his
woolly head in the act.

"It seems as if I could still see him. Ere I clearly realized that this
was an evil omen, the boat stopped.

"The water was shallow. I saw Achillas point to the shore. It could be
reached by a single bound. Pompey looked towards the King. The freedman
put his hand under his arm to help him rise. Septimius also stood up. I
thought he intended to assist him. But no! What did this mean? Something
flashed by the Imperator's silver-grey hair as if a spark had fallen
from the sky. Would Pompey defend himself, or why did he raise his hand?
It was to draw around him the toga, with which he silently covered
his face. The tribune's arm was again raised high into the air, and
then--what confusion! Here, there, yonder, hands suddenly appeared
aloft, bright flashes darted through the clear air. Achillas, the
general, dealt blows with his dagger as if he were skilled in murder.
The Imperator's stalwart figure sank forward. The freedman supported
him.

"Then shouts arose, here a cry of fury, yonder a wail of grief, and,
rising above all, a woman's shriek of anguish. It came from the lips of
Cornelia, the murdered man's wife. Shouts of applause from the King's
camp follo