fright. His feeling showed in great
beads of perspiration. He dared not to stay; he dared not to go. He
was in a worse plight than Vergilius, now standing in the leopard's
cage.

"A most inhospitable prince," the bland emperor repeated, smiling with
amusement. "You are in a hurry?"

"I am ill."

The emperor stood smiling as Antipater glided away.

"Run, you knave!" said the former to himself, with a chuckle of
satisfaction. "Upon my soul! the Jew has already set his snare."

Then the gentle and cunning man, Gaius Julius Caesar Octavianus
Augustus, made his way to the entrance where lecticarii were waiting
with his litter.

"Can you hear the sound of running feet?" he inquired of the lady who
sat beside him as they went away.

"Yes. What means it?"

He turned with a smile and a movement of his hand. Then he answered
calmly:

"Death is chasing a man through the garden yonder."

While Antipater was running towards the lion-house, that small tragedy
of the arena was near its end.

The lights are burning low. Two have flickered for a little and gone
out. The young men are watching with eager eyes.

"I can bear it no longer," says one, rushing to the gate of the arena,
only to find that he could not open it.

The slave-girl utters a cry and steps forward and is caught and held by
the carnifex.

Vergilius urges the leopard. He steps quickly, feinting with his
lance; the cat darts along the farther side of the arena, roaring. Its
eyes glow fiery in the dusk. The beast is become furious with
continued baiting. Half the lamps are out and the light rapidly
failing as Antipater rushes through the door. He falls beside the
arena, rises and opens the gate.

"A lance," he whispers, and it is quickly put in his hands. "Come,
come quickly, son of Varro," he whispers again. "The light is failing.
He will tear you into shreds. Come through the gate here."

Vergilius had stopped, facing the leopard with lance raised.

"Not unless I have the wager," says he, calmly.

"You have won it," Antipater answers. "Come, good friend, be quick, I
beg of you!"

Both moved backward through the gate, and before it closed there came a
fling of claws on the floor. A black ball, bound hard with tightened
sinew, rose in the air and shot across the arena and shook the gate
which had closed in time to stop it.

"You are living, son of Varro, and I thank the God of my fathers,"
Antipater shouted, as he flung himsel