her. His gallantry was unwelcome, he knew that, and Appius had assured
him that a marriage was impossible; but the wild heart of the Idumean
held to its purpose. And now its hidden eyes were gazing, catlike, on
Vergilius, the cause of its difficulty. In Judea he would have known
how to act, but in Rome he pondered.

It had been a stormy day in the palace of Antipater. He had crucified
a slave for disobedience and run a lance through one of his best horses
for no reason. He came out of his bath a little before the hour of his
banquet, and two slaves, trembling with fear, followed him to his
chamber. They put his tunic on him, and his sandals, and wound the
fillets that held them in place. One of the slaves began brushing the
dark hair of his master while the other was rubbing a precious ointment
on his face and arms.

"Fool!" he shouted. "Have I not told you never to bear upon my head?"

He jumped to his feet, black eyes flashing under heavy brows, and,
seizing a lance, broke the slave's arm with a blow and drove him out of
the chamber. A few minutes later, in a robe of white silk and a yellow
girdle, he came into his banquet-hall with politeness, dovelike,
worshipful, and caressing.

"Noble son of Varro!" said he, smiling graciously, "it is a joy to see
you. And you, brave Gracus; and you, Aulus, child of Destiny; and you,
my learned Manius; and you, Carus, favored of the Muses: I do thank you
all for this honor."

It was a brilliant company--gay youths all, who could tell the new
stories and loved to sit late with their wine. As they waited for