which you have an abject fear."

"Of death, do you mean?" asked Caracalla, sneering, for his wrath had
given place to astonishment.

And Philip answered: "Yes, Death--with whom I have sworn friendship, and
who should be ten times blessed to me if he would but atone for my
clumsiness and rid the world of such a monster!"

The emperor, still spell-bound by the unheard-of audacity of the youth
before him, now felt moved to keep step with the philosopher, whom few
could equal in sharpness of wit; and, controlling the raging fury of his
blood, he cried, in a tone of superiority:

"So that is the boasted logic of the Museum? Death is your dearest
desire, and yet you would give it to your enemy?"

"Quite right," replied Philip, his lip curling with scorn. "For there
is something which to the philosopher stands higher than logic. It is a
stranger to you, but you know it perhaps by name--it is called justice."

These words, and the contemptuous tone in which they were spoken, burst
the flood-gates of Caracalla's painfully restrained passion; his voice
rose harsh and loud, till the lion growled angrily and dragged at his
chain, while his master flung hasty words of fury in the face of his
enemy:

"We shall soon see, my cunning fencer with words, whether I know how to
follow your advice, and how sternly I can exercise that virtue denied to
me by an assassin. Will any one accuse me now of injustice if I punish