festivity did not cease with the passing of the brilliant
procession. In the afternoon the diversion of the populace, the festival
of the poor, would take place. The race of the flaming torch would be
held along the walls. Mariners, potters, laborers, all the free and poor
people of the port and the country in wild career, would carry lighted
torches in memory of Prometheus. He who accomplished the feat of making
the round of the city, keeping his torch still burning, would be
declared winner; those who let theirs go out, or who traveled slowly to
protect the flames, would be greeted with hisses and blows by the crowd.
Even the rich gave vent to enthusiasm over this popular festival which
produced so much merriment.

Near the Acropolis, when the procession was wholly within its walls,
Alorcus discerned among the people a Celtiberian mounted on a horse
covered with foam and sweat, beckoning him to approach.

Alorcus, turning away from the troop of horsemen, trotted towards him.

"What do you want?" he asked, in the harsh language of his country.

"I am one of your tribe, and your father is my chief. I have just
reached Saguntum after traveling three days to say to you; 'Alorcus,
your father is dying, and he calls for you.' The ancients of your tribe
have ordered me not to return without you."

Actaeon had followed his friend, breaking away from the sacred squadron,
and witnessed the dialogue without understanding a word, although he
guessed something disagreeable by the Celtiberian's pale face.

"Bad news?" he asked Alorcus.

"My father is dying, and he has sent for me."

"What shall you do?"

"I must go immediately. My people demand my presence."

The two horsemen began the descent to the city, followed by the
Celtiberian messenger.

Actaeon sympathized with his comrade's emotion. At the same time the
curiosity of the traveler, so often aroused by the Celtiberian's tales,
was awakened within him.

"Do you wish me to accompany you, Alorcus?"

The young man received the proposition with a look of gratitude. Then
he declined, saying that he must depart in haste; the Greek might wish
to bid farewell to Sonnica; perhaps the separation would be a grief to
her; and he desired to start on the journey at once.

"We will omit the farewell," said the Greek in his light, happy manner.
"Sonnica will be resigned when I make known to her through a slave that
I shall be absent for some days. Do you wish to leave immedi