the dogs in Rome had
already been killed and eaten. The wicket opened, and a voice spoke
which he well remembered.

'You alive still, old Stephanus? Who feeds you? Open and teach me the
art of living on nothing.'

He who opened looked indeed the image of Famine--a fleshless, tottering
creature, with scarce strength left to turn the key in the door. His
only companions in the house were his daughter and the dog. Till not
long ago there had been also the daughter's child, whom she had borne
to Marcian, but this boy was dead.

'I'm glad to see you,' said Stephanus mysteriously, drawing his visitor
into the atrium, and speaking as if the house were full of people who
might overhear him. 'Your coming to-day is a strange thing. Have you,
perchance, had a dream?'

'What dream should I have had?' answered Sagaris, his superstition at
once stirring.

The old man related that last night, for the third time, he had dreamt
that a treasure lay buried in this house. Where he could not say, but
in his dream he seemed to descend stairs, and to reach a door which,
when he opened it, showed him a pile of gold, shining in so brilliant a
light that he fell back blinded, whereupon the door closed in his face.
To this the Syrian listened very curiously. Cellars there were below
the house, as he well knew, and hidden treasure was no uncommon thing
in Rome. Having bidden Stephanus light a torch, he went exploring, but
though they searched long, they could find no trace of a door long
unopened, or of a walled-up entrance.

'You should have more wit in your dreaming, old scarecrow,' said
Sagaris. 'If I had had a dream such as that a second time, not to speak
of a third, do you think I should not have learnt the way. But you were
always a clod-pate.'

Thus did he revenge himself for the contumely he had suffered from
Heliodora. As he spoke they were joined by the old man's daughter, who,
after begging at many houses, returned with a pocketful of lentils. The
girl had been pretty, but was now emaciated and fever-burnt; she looked
with ill-will at Sagaris, whom she believed, as did others of his
acquaintance, to have murdered Marcian, and to have invented the story
of his death at the hands of Basil. Well understanding this, Sagaris
amused himself with jesting on the loss of her beauty; why did she not
go to the Palatine, where handsome women were always welcome? Having
driven her away with his brutality, he advised Stephanus to keep sile