`For the sake of the old times, help
me in this bitter pass, so fraught with peril as it is'; and say, `I
forgive the bygones, and be to me as my brother once again.'"

Cracis was silent, and stood drawing his son closer to him so that he
could rest his arm upon the boy's shoulder, while his visitor stood
before him with his white robe gathered up so as to leave free his
extended arm.

For a few minutes neither spoke, and from the garden there came loud and
clear the joyous trilling of the birds.

"You do not take my hand," said Caius Julius, passionately.

"No, not yet," said Cracis; "but do not mistake me. There is no
bitterness or pride left in my breast. That died out years ago. I am
only thinking."

"Ha!" cried his visitor, with a sigh of relief, "and forgetting the
courtesy due to a long-estranged friend."

"Caius Julius, sit down. You are welcome to my simple, humble home.
Marcus, my boy, you can believe that all our visitor said was to try his
old friend's son to see of what metal he was made. He is a man who, for
years past, has found the necessity of testing those he would have to
trust, of placing them in the balance to try their worthiness and
weight. Boy, we are honoured to-day by the presence of Rome's greatest
son, your father's oldest friend, then his greatest enemy, and now, in
the fulness of time, his brother once again."

As he spoke he took a step forward with extended hands, which the future
conqueror of the world clasped at once in his own, and once more there
was silence in the room.

A minute later Cracis drew back and motioned to his son, who, earnest
and alert, stepped forward, to find himself clasped to their visitor's
breast, before he was released, to draw back wondering whether he liked
or hated this man of whose prowess he had heard so much, and stood
gazing at him wonderingly, as Julius, the Caesar yet to be, sank back,
quivering with emotion, in the nearest seat.

A few minutes later Marcus stood trying to catch his father's eye, for
he too had sunk into a chair and sat back gazing away through the open
window at the sunlit hills.

At last he turned his eye upon his son and read the question in his
speaking face.

"Yes, boy," he said, "you may leave us now. My old friend has much to
say, and I too have much to think. Go and see that proper preparations
are made for our guest. You will honour us--No," he continued, with a
pleasant smile, as he turned to his guest, "