quivered--were still--he was a corpse.'

His body was dragged at once from the arena through the gate of death,
and thrown into the gloomy den termed technically the spoliarium. And
ere it had well reached that destination, the strife between the
remaining combatants was decided. The sword of Eumolpus had inflicted
the death-wound upon the less experienced combatant. A new victim was
added to the receptacle of the slain.

Throughout that mighty assembly there now ran a universal movement; the
people breathed more freely, and resettled themselves in their seats. A
grateful shower was cast over every row from the concealed conduits. In
cool and luxurious pleasure they talked over the late spectacle of
blood. Eumolpus removed his helmet, and wiped his brows; his
close-curled hair and short beard, his noble Roman features and bright
dark eye attracted the general admiration. He was fresh, unwounded,
unfatigued.

The editor paused, and proclaimed aloud that, as Niger's wound disabled
him from again entering the arena, Lydon was to be the successor to the
slaughtered Nepimus, and the new combatant of Eumolpus.

'Yet, Lydon,' added he, 'if thou wouldst decline the combat with one so
brave and tried, thou mayst have full liberty to do so. Eumolpus is not
the antagonist that was originally decreed for thee. Thou knowest best
how far thou canst cope with him. If thou failest, thy doom is
honorable death; if thou conquerest, out of my own purse I will double
the stipulated prize.'

The people shouted applause. Lydon stood in the lists, he gazed around;
high above he beheld the pale face, the straining eyes, of his father.
He turned away irresolute for a moment. No! the conquest of the cestus
was not sufficient--he had not yet won the prize of victory--his father
was still a slave!

'Noble aedile!' he replied, in a firm and deep tone, 'I shrink not from
this combat. For the honour of Pompeii, I demand that one trained by
its long-celebrated lanista shall do battle with this Roman.'

The people shouted louder than before.

'Four to one against Lydon!' said Clodius to Lepidus.

'I would not take twenty to one! Why, Eumolpus is a very Achilles, and
this poor fellow is but a tyro!'

Eumolpus gazed hard on the face of Lydon; he smiled; yet the smile was
followed by a slight and scarce audible sigh--a touch of compassionate
emotion, which custom conquered the moment the heart acknowledged it.

And now both, clad i