ourage,' 'wisdom,'
'success,'" he added, reading from the tablets. "Naturally, and who,
indeed, does not desire those things? Here is one that says 'help'--a
great word, upon my soul! He that prays for help and not for favor, if
he do his best, may have many good things--even 'courage,' 'wisdom,'
'success.' Keep at work and you shall have my help, Appius, and, I
doubt not, that of the gods also. Here is one--I like it best of
all--it is that of the modest young Vergilius. He would have a
priceless thing. And do you," he inquired, turning to the young
knight, "desire this above all things? Think; there is the distinction
of place and power and honor--the ring of a legate would become you
well!"

"But, above all," said Vergilius, "I desire that I have written."

"Beautiful boy!" said the cunning emperor. "'Tis so great a prize,
give me another test of your quality. With one word you ask for one
thing. To try your wit, I give you a theme so small it is next to
naught--the number one. Tell us, and briefly as you may, what is in
it."

The young man rose and bowed low. "One is in all numbers," said he,
"and unless all numbers are as one they are nothing. I desire one
mistress for my heart, one purpose for my conduct, and one great master
for my country."

"The gods grant them!" said Augustus, leading the applause.

"And now I shall proclaim the word he has written. It is 'Arria,' and
stands, I know well, for the sister of Appius."

He turned quickly to the still and silent figure of the slave behind
him. All eyes were now watching her.

"Are you content?" he inquired.

Gray veil and robe fell away, revealing the beautiful sister of Appius.
Vergilius went quickly to her side.

"I declare them for each other!" said the emperor, as all rose and
gathered around the two. He took the boy's hand. "Come to me at ten
to-morrow," he added.

"But, O father of Rome!" said Arria, looking up at the great man, "how
long shall you detain him?"

"Give me half an hour, you love-sick maiden," said Augustus. "He shall
be at your palace in good time."

"Come at the middle hour," said the Lady Lucia, her hand upon the arm
of Vergilius.

"The gods give you sleep," said the great father, as he bade them
good-night.

Beneath the laurels on their way to the gate, Gracus, who rode with
Antipater, said:

"And what of your oath, son of Herod?"

"But they are not yet married," the other answered, malevolently.
"V