With these words the Emperor turned over on his couch and was soon
asleep.

Mastor, too, lay down to rest after he had spread a rug for the dog in
the corridor outside the Emperor's sleeping-room. His head rested on a
curved shield of stout cowhide under which lay his short sword; the bed
was but a hard one, but Mastor had for years been used to rest on nothing
better, and still had enjoyed the dreamless slumbers of a child; but to-
night sleep avoided him, and from time to time he pressed his hand on his
wearily open eyes to wipe away the salt dew which rose to them again and
again. For a long time he had restrained these tears bravely enough, for
the Emperor liked to see none but cheerful faces among his servants; nay,
he had once said that it was in consequence of his bright eyes that he
had entrusted to him the care of his person. Poor, cheerful Mastor!
He was nothing but a slave, still he had a heart which lay open to joy
and suffering, to pleasure and trouble, to hatred and to love.

In his childhood his native village had fallen into the hands of the foes
of his race. He and his brother had been carried away as slaves, first
into Asia Minor, and then as they were both particularly pretty fair-
haired boys, to Rome. There they had been bought for the Emperor; Mastor
had been chosen to wait on Hadrian's person, his brother had been put to
work in the gardens. Nothing was lacking to either except his liberty;
nothing tormented them but their longing for their native home, and even
this altogether faded away after he had married the pretty little
daughter of a superintendent of the gardens, a slave like himself.
She was a lively little woman with sparkling eyes, whom no one could
pass by without noticing.

The slave's duties left him but little time to enjoy the society of his