hildren. I pray
you send me rather to fight against the barbarian Dacians than against
these."

"I was well informed then that you were a bold fellow," exclaimed the
Emperor, his brow flushing in his anger a deeper hue; "but I have need
of such. Do thy duty, on thy allegiance, and see that thou soon bring
these culprits to justice. Is it not enough that universal rumour
condemns them? They are pestilent sedition-mongers, and enemies of the
gods and of the State."

"I, too, am a worshipper of the gods," continued the intrepid soldier,
"and will fail not to keep my allegiance to your Imperial Majesty, to
the State, and to those higher powers," and he walked backward out of
the Imperial presence. As he rejoined his secretary a cloud sat on his
brow. He was moody and taciturn, and evidently little pleased with his
newly-imposed duties. But the confirmed habit of unquestioning obedience
inherent in a Roman soldier led to an almost mechanical acceptance of
his uncongenial task. Emerging from the outer court he proceeded to his
own house, in the populous region of the Aventine Hill, now a deserted
waste, covered with kitchen gardens and vineyards. In the meantime we
turn to another part of the great Imperial palace.

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[6] Even as far west as Spain the following inscription has been found,
which seems designed as a funeral monument of dead and buried
Christianity: "DIOCLETIAN. C[AE]S. AVG. SVPERSTITIONE CHRIST. VBIQ.
DELETAET CVLTV, DEOR. PROPAGATO"--"To Diocletian, C[ae]sar Augustus, the
Christian superstition being everywhere destroyed and the worship of the
gods extended." But though apparently destroyed, Christianity, like its
divine Author, instinct with immortality, rose triumphant over all its
foes.

CHAPTER III.

EMPRESS AND SLAVE.

Using the time-honoured privilege of ubiquity accorded to imaginative
writers, we beg to conduct our readers to a part of the stately palace
of Diocletian, where, if they had really been found in their own proper
persons, it would have been at the peril of their lives. After fifteen
long centuries have passed, we may explore without let or hindrance the
most private apartments of the once all-potent masters of the world. We
may roam through their unroofed banquet-chambers. We may gaze upon the
frescoes, carvings, and mosaics which met their eyes. We may behold the
evidences of their luxury and profligacy. We may thread the secret
corridors and g