ity, he saw the lad glide into the waters, and the Nile
swallowed in its flood the noblest and fairest of victims.

CHAPTER XXII

A night and a day had slipped away since the death of the Bithynian.
Ships and boats from every part of the province had collected before
Besa to seek for the body of the drowned youth, the shores swarmed with
men, and cressets and torches had dimmed the moonlight on river and
shore all through the night; but they had not yet succeeded in finding
the body of the beautiful youth.

Hadrian had heard in what way Antinous had perished. He had required
Mastor to repeat to him more than once the last words of his faithful
companion and neither to add nor to omit a single syllable. Hadrian's
accurate memory cherished them all and now he had sat till dawn and from
dawn till the sun had reached the meridian, repeating them again and
again to him self. He sat gloomily brooding and would neither eat nor
drink. The misfortune which had threatened him had fallen--and what a
grief was this! If indeed Fate would accept the anguish he now felt in
the place of all other suffering it might have had in store for him he
might look forward to years free from care, but he felt as though he
would rather have spent the remainder of his existence in sorrow and
misery with his Antinous by his side than enjoy, without him, all that
men call happiness, peace and prosperity.

Sabina and her escort had arrived-a host of men; but he had strictly
ordered that no one, not even his wife, was to be admitted to his
presence. The comfort of tears was denied him, but his grief gripped
him at the heart, clouded his brain and made hint so irritably sensitive
that an unfamiliar voice, though even at a distance, disturbed him and
made him angry.

The party who had arrived by water were not allowed to occupy the tents
which had been pitched for them not far from his, because he desired to
be alone, quite alone, with his anguish of spirit. Mastor, whom he had
hitherto regarded rather a useful chattel than as a human creature, now
grew nearer to him--had he not been the one witness of his darling's
strange disappearance. Towards the close of this, the most miserable
night he had ever known, the slave asked him whether he should not fetch
the physician from the ships, he looked so pale; but Hadrian forbade it.

"If I could only cry like a woman," he said, "or like other fathers
whose sons are snatched away by death, that woul