ficulty in believing his victim to be innocent, listened to him and
questioned him. But when they offered the very help which he implored,
and asked him to tell his story, the poor boy's tongue clove to the roof
of his mouth. How could he publish his sisters shame? And yet she was
about to publish it herself!.... And instead of words, he met their
condolences with fresh agonies, till they gave him up as mad; and, tired
by his violence, compelled him, with blows and curses, to remain quiet;
and so the week wore out, in dull and stupefied despair, which trembled
on the very edge of idiocy. Night and day were alike to him. The food
which was thrust in through his grate remained untasted; hour after
hour, day after day, he sat upon the ground, his head buried in his
hands, half-dozing from mere exhaustion of body and mind. Why should
he care to stir, to eat, to live? He had but one purpose in heaven and
earth: and that one purpose was impossible.

At last his cell-door grated on its hinges.

'Up, my mad youth!' cried a rough voice. 'Up, and thank the favour of
the gods, and the bounty of our noble--ahem!--Prefect. To-day he gives
freedom to all prisoners. And I suppose a pretty boy like you may go
about your business, as well as uglier rascals!'

Philammon looked up in the gaoler's face with a dim half-comprehension
of his meaning.

'Do you hear?' cried the man with a curse. 'You are free. Jump up, or I
shut the door again, and your one chance is over.'

'Did she dance Venus Anadyomene?'

'She! Who?'

'My sister! Pelagia!'

'Heaven only knows what she has not danced in her time! But they say she
dances to-day once more. Quick! out, or I shall not be ready in time for
the sports. They begin an hour hence. Free admission into the theatre
to-day for all--rogues and honest men, Christians and heathens--Curse
the boy! he's as mad as ever.'

So indeed Philammon seemed; for, springing suddenly to his feet, he
rushed out past the gaoler, upsetting him into the corridor, and fled
wildly from the prison among the crowd of liberated ruffians, ran from
the prison home, from home to the baths, from the baths to the theatre,
and was soon pushing his way, regardless of etiquette, towards the lower
tiers of benches, in order, he hardly knew why, to place himself as near
as possible to the very sight which he dreaded and abhorred.

As fate would have it, the passage by which he had entered opened close
to the Prefect's chair of