would certainly not contain matter flattering to the Romans.

"Leave them alone," answered Caesar, roughly. "Every line is aimed at me
and no other. But the condemned are always allowed their favorite meal
before the last journey. The food they love is venomous satire. Let
them enjoy it to the full once more!--Is it far to Zminis's prison?"

The reply was in the negative; and as Caracalla exclaimed, "So much the
better!" a significant smile played on his lips.

The high-priest of Serapis had looked on in much distress of mind. He,
as the head of the Museum, had set high hopes on the youth who had come
to such a terrible end. If Caesar should carry his threats into
execution, there would be an end to that celebrated home of learning
which, in his opinion, bore such noble fruits of study. And what could
Caracalla mean by his dark saying that the sport and mockery of those
youths below was their last meal? The worst might indeed be expected
from the fearful tyrant who was at once so deeply wounded and so
grievously offended; and the high-priest had already sent messengers--
Greeks of good credit--to warn the insurgent youths in the stadium. But,
as the chief minister of the divinity, he also esteemed it his duty, at
any risk to himself, to warn the despot, whom he saw on the verge of
being carried away to deeds of unparalleled horror. He thought the time
had come, when Caracalla looked up from the brooding reverie into which
he had again sunk, and with an ominous scowl asked Timotheus whether his
wife, under whose protection Melissa had been seen the day before, had
known that the false-hearted girl had given herself to another man while
she feigned love for him.

The high-priest repelled the suspicion with his usual dignity, and went