nged, and--and--I love you!"

Like a soft glow the beauty of the Greek shone in the twilight of the
grotto.

* * * * *

Nine guests were bidden to Sonnica's banquet, and as night closed in
they came, some in chariots, others mounted on gaily caparisoned horses,
passing between rows of slaves holding lighted torches.

When Sonnica and Actaeon entered the festal hall, the guests stood in
groups near the purple couches arranged about the curving table, the
marble top of which some slaves were washing with sponges and perfumed
water. Four enormous bronze lampadaries occupied the corners of the
triclinium. From their brackets were suspended numberless little jars of
perfumed oil, in which floated wicks, shedding a rich light. Garlands of
roses and foliage hung from lamp to lamp, constituting a fragrant border
for the banquet hall. Near a door leading to the peristyle stood carved
wooden tables piled with gold and silver dishes and the keen-edged
carving knives for the use of the slaves.

Alorcus the Celtiberian stood talking with Lachares and three of those
young Greeks who so scandalized the Saguntines in the Forum by their
effeminate ways. The arrogant barbarian, according to the custom of his
race, wore his sword belted to his waist until the banquet began, when
he hung it upon the ivory _anaclintron_ of the couch that he might have
it ever within reach of his hand.

At the other extreme of the table two citizens of advanced age, and
Alcon the pacific Saguntine, with whom Actaeon had spoken that morning on
the esplanade of the Acropolis, were carrying on a quiet conversation.

The two old men were long-time friends of the house, Greek merchants
whom Sonnica had taken as partners in business, and whom she invited to
her nocturnal feasts, appreciating the dignified air which they added to
these occasions.

As the devoted pair entered the banquet chamber the guests divined their
felicity in Sonnica's tender, shining eyes, and in the abandon with
which she inclined toward Actaeon her blonde head, crowned with roses and
violets.

"At last we have a master," murmured Lachares with a tone of jealousy.

"He has been more fortunate than we," replied the Celtiberian
resignedly. "But he is an Athenian, and I can understand that Sonnica,
the cold hearted, should have surrendered to one of her own people."

Actaeon, being presented to the guests, moved about the hall with the
self-possession