"No one seems to know what it is. And if I talk ever so softly, every
word vibrates through my brain."

"Then you must not speak," interrupted Melissa, eagerly. "If you want
anything, only make signs. I shall understand you without words, and the
quieter it is here the better."

"No, no; you must speak," begged the invalid. "When the others talk,
they make the beating in my head ten times worse, and excite me; but I
like to hear your voice."

"The beating?" interrupted Melissa, in whom this word awoke old memories.
"Perhaps you feel as if a hammer was hitting you over the left eye?

"If you move rapidly, does it not pierce your skull, and do you not feel
as sick as if you were on the rocking sea?"

"Then you also know this torment?" asked Caracalla, surprised; but she
answered, quietly, that her mother had suffered several times from
similar headaches, and had described them to her.

Caesar sank back again on the pillows, moved his dry lips, and glanced
toward the drink which Galen had prescribed for him; and Melissa, who
almost as a child had long nursed a dear invalid, guessed what he wanted,
brought him the goblet, and gave him a draught.

Caracalla rewarded her with a grateful look. But the physic only seemed
to increase the pain. He lay there panting and motionless, until, trying
to find a new position, he groaned, lightly: