reach; he had sent him to his mother. And for what purpose? To tell her
that he, Caesar, had found a wife after his own heart, and to win her
favor and consent. At this thought the blood surged up in him with rage
and shame. Even before they were wed his chosen bride had been false to
him; she had fled from his embraces, as he now knew, to death, never to
return.

He would gladly have sent a galley in pursuit to bring Philostratus back
again; but the vessel in which the philosopher had embarked was one of
the swiftest in the imperial fleet, and it had already so long a start
that to overtake it would be almost impossible. So within a few days
Philostratus would meet his mother; he, if any one, could describe
Melissa's beauty in the most glowing colors, and that he would do so to
the empress, his great friend, was beyond a doubt. But the haughty Julia
would scarcely be inclined to accept the gem-cutter's child for a
daughter; indeed, she did not wish that he should ever marry again.

But what was he to her? Her heart was given to the infant son of her
niece Mammaea;--[The third Caesar after Caracalla, Alexander Severus]--
in him she discovered every gift and virtue. What joy there would be
among the women of Julia's train when it was known that Caesar's chosen
bride had disdained him, and, in him, the very purple. But that joy
would not be of long duration, for the news of the punishment by death of
a hundred thousand Alexandrians would, he knew, fall like a lash on the
women. He fancied he could hear their howls and wailing, and see the
horror of Philostratus, and how he would join the women in bemoaning the
horrible deed! He, the philosopher, would perhaps be really grieved;
aye, and if he had been at his side this morning everything might perhaps
have been different. But the deed was done, and now he must take the
consequences.