kissed them. Then
he spoke with bitter irony, his words coming fast. "You met the great
king?"

"Yes, good sire."

"You put him in chains and brought him hither?"

"And I commend him to your mercy."

"Ha, ha!" the king shrieked, caressing the hand of the Roman. Now his
head rose, and for a little his old vigor and menacing voice returned
to him. "He has run me through with the blade of remorse and put upon
me the chains of infirmity," he complained, an ominous, croaking rattle
in his throat. "To-day, to-day, my wrath shall descend upon him and my
gratitude upon you! These forty years have I been seeking a man of
honor. At last, at last, here is the greatest of men! I, Herod,
surnamed the Great, king of Judea, conqueror of hosts, builder of
cities, bare my head before you!"

He removed his jewelled crown; he drew off his purple tarboosh, and
bowed before the young tribune. Tenderly Vergilius replaced them on
the gray head.

"O king," said he, bowing low, "you do me great honor."

Herod closed his eyes and muttered feebly. Again remorse and age had
flung their weight upon him. His hard face seemed to shrink and
wither, and the young man thought as he looked upon it, "What a great,
good thing is death!"

The king opened his eyes and piped, feebly: "Help me; help me to win
the favor of my people! You shall be procurator, commander of the
forces, counsellor of kings, priest of God."

The king waited, but Vergilius made no reply. Now, indeed, was he
living in a great and memorable moment. He thought of the power
offered him--power of doing and undoing, power of raising up and
putting down, power over good and evil.

"Well," said Herod, impatiently, "what say you?"

"O king!" said Vergilius, "I had hoped soon to return to Rome and marry
and live in the land of my fathers."

"Hear me, good youth," said Herod, sternly, seizing the hand of the
young man. "There is a wise proverb in Judea. It is: 'Speak not much
with a woman.' Had I obeyed it, then had I saved my soul and
happiness. Women have been ever false with me--an idle, whispering,
and mischievous crew! O youth, give not your heart to them! For five
years let Judea be your bride. She woos you, son of Varro, and she is
fair. She asks for love and justice, and she will give you immortal
fame."

The king fondly pressed the hand of the Roman, who stood beside him,
grave and thoughtful. For the young man it was a moment of almost
overwhe