fore his eyes, something that ought
to be regarded as sacred. And there stood the monarch, a man no longer
young, gazing at his performance and never weary of the amusement it
afforded him. It pained Pontius keenly, for like all noble natures, he
could not bear to discover anything mean or vulgar in a man to whom he
had always looked up as to a strong exceptional character. As an artist
Hadrian ought not to have vilified beauty, as a man he ought not to have
insulted unprotected innocence.

In the soul of the architect, who had hitherto been one of the Emperor's
warmest admirers, a slight aversion began to dawn, and he was glad,
when, at last, Hadrian decided to withdraw to rest.

The Emperor found in his room every requisite he was accustomed to use,
and while his slave undressed him, lighted his night-lamp and adjusted
his pillows, he said:

"This is the best evening I have enjoyed for years. Is Antinous
comfortably in bed?"

"As much so as in Rome."

"And the big dog?"

"I will lay his rug in the passage at your door."

"Has he had any food?"

"Bones, bread and water."

"I hope you have had something to eat this evening."

"I was not hungry, and there was plenty of bread and wine."

"To-morrow we shall be better supplied. Now, good-night. Weigh your
words for fear you should betray me. A few days here undisturbed would
be delightful!"

With these words the Emperor turned over on his couch and was soon
asleep.

Mastor, too, lay down to rest after he had spread a rug for the dog in
the corridor outside the Emperor's sleeping-room. His head rested on a
curved shield of stout cowhide under which lay his short sword; the
bed was but a hard one, but Mastor had for years been used to rest on
nothing better, and still had enjoyed the dreamless slumbers of a child;
but to-night sleep avoided him, and from time to time he pressed his
hand on his wearily open eyes to wipe away the salt dew which rose to
them again and again. For a long time he had restrained these tears
bravely enough, for the Emperor liked to see none but cheerful faces
among his servants; nay, he had once said that it was in consequence
of his bright eyes that he had entrusted to him the care of his person.
Poor, cheerful Mastor! He was nothing but a slave, still he had a heart
which lay open to joy and suffering, to pleasure and trouble, to hatred
and to love.

In his childhood his native village had fallen into the hands of the
foes of h