sion and thy signature, or the amphitheatre and the
lion's maw!'

As the Egyptian fixed his eyes upon the sufferer, he hailed with joy the
signs of evident emotion that seized the latter at these words. A
slight shudder passed over the Athenian's frame--his lip fell--an
expression of sudden fear and wonder betrayed itself in his brow and
eye.

'Great gods!' he said, in a low voice, 'what reverse is this? It seems
but a little day since life laughed out from amidst roses--Ione
mine--youth, health, love, lavishing on me their treasures; and
now--pain, madness, shame, death! And for what? What have I done?
Oh, I am mad still?'

'Sign, and be saved!' said the soft, sweet voice of the Egyptian.

'Tempter, never!' cried Glaucus, in the reaction of rage. 'Thou knowest
me not: thou knowest not the haughty soul of an Athenian! The sudden
face of death might appal me for a moment, but the fear is over.
Dishonour appals for ever! Who will debase his name to save his life?
who exchange clear thoughts for sullen days? who will belie himself to
shame, and stand blackened in the eyes of love? If to earn a few years
of polluted life there be so base a coward, dream not, dull barbarian of
Egypt! to find him in one who has trod the same sod as Harmodius, and
breathed the same air as Socrates. Go! leave me to live without
self-reproach--or to perish without fear!'

'Bethink thee well! the lion's fangs: the hoots of the brutal mob: the
vulgar gaze on thy dying agony and mutilated limbs: thy name degraded;
thy corpse unburied; the shame thou wouldst avoid clinging to thee for
aye and ever!'

'Thou ravest; thou art the madman! shame is not in the loss of other
men's esteem--it is in the loss of our own. Wilt thou go?--my eyes
loathe the sight of thee! hating ever, I despise thee now!'

'I go,' said Arbaces, stung and exasperated, but not without some
pitying admiration of his victim, 'I go; we meet twice again--once at
the Trial, once at the Death! Farewell!'

The Egyptian rose slowly, gathered his robes about him, and left the
chamber. He sought Sallust for a moment, whose eyes began to reel with
the vigils of the cup: 'He is still unconscious, or still obstinate;
there is no hope for him.'

'Say not so,' replied Sallust, who felt but little resentment against
the Athenian's accuser, for he possessed no great austerity of virtue,
and was rather moved by his friend's reverses than persuaded of his
innocence--'say not s