knight, and there was a note of despair in his voice. "Have mercy upon
me!"

"Young sir," said she, retreating slowly, as he advanced, "I do not
love you--I do not love you."

She turned quickly, and ran to the peristyle, and, stopping not to
glance back at him, entered the great marble home of her fathers.

He stood a moment looking at the sun-glow behind roof and dome and
tower. A bridge of light, spanning the hollow of the city, had laid
its golden timbers from hill to hill; and for a little the young man
felt as if he were drowning in the shadows under it. He turned
presently and hurried into the palace.




CHAPTER 3

"He is more honored than Jupiter these days," the philosopher was
saying as Vergilius re-entered.

"Who?" inquired the young man.

"Who else but Caesar, and it is well. The gods--who are they?"

"The adopted children of Vergil and Homer," said Appius, brother of
Arria, who had just returned from the baths.