Vah! vah!' said Lydon, impatiently; 'I am in no humor to converse with
thee!'

'Why, truly,' returned the slave, 'you must have serious thoughts enough
to occupy your mind: to-morrow is, I think, your first essay in the
arena. Well, I am sure you will die bravely!'

'May thy words fall on thine own head!' said Lydon, superstitiously, for
he by no means liked the blessing of Sosia. 'Die! No--I trust my hour
is not yet come.'

'He who plays at dice with death must expect the dog's throw,' replied
Sosia, maliciously. 'But you are a strong fellow, and I wish you all
imaginable luck; and so, vale!'

With that the slave turned on his heel, and took his way homeward.

'I trust the rogue's words are not ominous,' said Lydon, musingly. 'In
my zeal for my father's liberty, and my confidence in my own thews and
sinews, I have not contemplated the possibility of death. My poor
father! I am thy only son!--if I were to fall...'

As the thought crossed him, the gladiator strode on with a more rapid
and restless pace, when suddenly, in an opposite street, he beheld the
very object of his thoughts. Leaning on his stick, his form bent by
care and age, his eyes downcast, and his steps trembling, the
grey-haired Medon slowly approached towards the gladiator. Lydon paused
a moment: he divined at once the cause that brought forth the old man at
that late hour.

'Be sure, it is I whom he seeks,' thought he; 'he is horror struck at
the condemnation of Olinthus--he more than ever esteems the arena
criminal and hateful--he comes again to dissuade me from the contest. I
must shun him--I cannot brook his prayers--his tears.'

These thoughts, so long to recite, flashed across the young man like
lightning. He turned abruptly and fled swiftly in an opposite
direction. He paused not till, almost spent and breathless, he found
himself on the summit of a small acclivity which overlooked the most gay
and splendid part of that miniature city; and as there he paused, and
gazed along the tranquil streets glittering in the rays of the moon
(which had just arisen, and brought partially and picturesquely into
light the crowd around the amphitheatre at a distance, murmuring, and
swaying to and fro), the influence of the scene affected him, rude and
unimaginative though his nature. He sat himself down to rest upon the
steps of a deserted portico, and felt the calm of the hour quiet and
restore him. Opposite and near at hand, the lights gleamed