in gruff tones through the serried lines, sterner than ever, with anticipation of the approaching vengeful carnage.

From another direction soon came the half-hushed tramp of other troops-the cohorts creeping from the farther side of the crater basin, to take their position in a more compact mass at the front. A moment more, and they began to gather in; the men elate with kindling ardor for the strife, but their officers wearing puzzled looks, in their well-justified doubt about the wisdom of a maneuver into the real purpose of which it was no part of their duty to inquire. In an instant all these had bestowed themselves in battle array, in readiness for the onset, looking eagerly towards their leader in hushed expectation of the order to advance. There were already more than enough assembled to begin the work, yet for the moment Cleon hesitated. Was his object gained, or was it doomed to failure?

Then from the furthermost point came a sudden cry that the insurgents were escaping, and still Cleon delayed-doubtingly delayed until the clouding looks turned upon him gave assurance that no further dallying with the crisis could be tolerated; and so at last he yielded to the fate forced upon him, and pealed forth his order for the onset.

At once there arose a fierce, impulsive shout, growing momentarily wilder and shriller; and the nearest of the legionaries leaping across the now unprotected borders of the crater slope, plunged rapidly down in hot pursuit of the flying enemy. A moment more, and loud cries of rage, pain, and exultation filled the air, as laggard or feeble groups were overtaken, and either fell fighting desperately for their forfeited lives, or were stricken down without resist ance. Then, as though inspired by the turmoil, fresh soldiers leaped into the arena with yet louder acclaim, until in an instant nearly all were engaged in the mingled and confused work of destruction and butchery. Soon the savage uproar grew more distant, as the foremost of the legionaries, crossing to

the other side of the basin, pursued the scattered fugitives down the farther slope of the mountain.

And then, behind where Cleon remained, straining his gaze over the troubled scene, suddenly broke forth loud, deep tones of anger; and the Tribune Balbus, riding at the head of his cohorts and reining his horse up the last acclivity of the mountain, appeared upon the summit.

"What saturnalia is this?" he cried, his eyes blazing with the intensity of his newly kindled wrath. "What contempt of orders or what treachery? Who is there to answer for it?"

There was only one person to answer for it; and Cleon sprung forward to accuse, and if necessary, convict himself with the open confession of his fault. Better now than at any other time, he thought, and let the floodgates of his superior's passion be opened at once, and the torrent of wrath be outpoured and expended without delay, rather than remain sealed to take new shape and consistency, and so lead to worse results. But before he could speak, one near at hand leaned forward and whispered into the ear of Balbus a word, and from that an animated conference between the two ensued.

"Say you so?" cried Balbus at length, breaking off the muttered conversation. "This, then, must be sternly looked into, and not lightly passed over. Let me first give note to these other matters which need present attention, and then, by the immortal gods-"

He did not finish the exclamation; but grasping with nervous energy the hilt of his sword, he swept his gaze slowly around, with an expression of keen intensity which seemed to search into the mind of every person in the little group about him, and yet at the same time to pass beyond them, and piercing through the darkness to gather every feature of the distant scene of rout and slaughter. Not even upon Cleon, who stood directly in his front, waiting to be questioned, did he bestow more than a passing look, treating him like the others, as one of too little consequence to be then inquired

Then, without further delay, striking the flanks of his horse, the Tribune galloped off around the edge of the crater basin to the farther side, whence in an instant his harsh voice could be heard ringing through the night air, as, in his efforts to repair the recent error, he cried out to cut down and spare not.

Cleon, moving slowly away, repaired to his tent, there to await the issue of the affair. He could now remain in quiet, having no longer any duties to perform, since Balbus had superseded him in the command. This, of course, had long been foreseen and arranged; and yet, had all things been already properly carried out, and had Balbus been his friend, the duties of the service might still have been practically divided between them, the new commander asking counsel of the old. But even this courtesy could not now be shown, and Cleon was left a supernumerary in the camp which a moment before he had governed; feeling himself of less authority, indeed, than even the lowest of his centurions.

Gradually the night wore on, as there he sat by the door of his tent and anxiously awaited a summons. The hours passed one by one, but no message came. This in it self was a cheerless sign, for it gave suspicion that the Tribune was nursing his wrath into a settled and available form, adapting it with steady and deliberate reflection to purposes of more complete punishment and revenge. And little by little Cleon could see that the rumor of his impending disgrace and ruin had opened itself about the camp. The captains and centurions, whom he had so lately commanded, now hurried by with averted gaze; and even the common legionaries glanced at him askance, with

As time passed on, these glances in some became mingled with anger; for had he not robbed the soldiers of their rightful spoil? For though so many of the insurgents had been overtaken and slain, there were hundreds who had escaped, and in the imagination of the pursuers, those were ever the ones who had borne upon their persons the most coveted booty. Wrathful words began to be uttered regarding the loss of those illusive spoils; and even such of the soldiers as had had the fortune to reap a goodly portion were angry because it had not proved larger. As in the case of one who, coming back from the pursuit with well-hacked sword and dented shield, paused near the the tent of Cleon, and exhibited to a little knot of comrades a golden collar torn from the neck of a butchered slave. But when the others envied his good fortune, the soldier himself mourned, shaking his head. and saying:

"There was a slave in front of me who had his legs heavy with golden anklets; and where now are they, or who else has gained them?"

Hearing this, and imagining that the disappointed legionaries cast looks of anger and reproach towards his tent, Cleon moved away with half-consciousness of guilt, and withdrew himself still farther into the darker shadow of its doorway. Then the soldiers passed on, with new growls of disappointment, and Cleon remained, awaiting that summons which did not come, and revolving over and over the same sequences of disturbing thought, in vain attempts to get comfort from them.

He found, as he did so, his reflections becoming more and more alloyed with bitterness; for now, in addition to other considerations, cruel doubts began to arise as to whether, after all and apart from this present trouble, his whole life had not been a mistake: not merely now, but far back to the time when all had been brightness about his path, and applause and

glory had accompanied him, and no clouds had threatened to obscure his fair horizon. Not a mistake in the way that he had once imagined it, when at that chance gathering at the bath so few days before, he had given impulsive vent to his one transitory rebellion of spirit against duty, disposing himself for the moment to weigh his years of hardship and service against his glory, and to find his career a failure, inasmuch as it lacked those other glittering attractions which could so much more easily be gathered in the paths of gayety and pleasure. But he began to wonder whether it might not prove the most commendable course of life to treat not only pleasure but honor with contempt, and to couple himself with some earnest duty, without consideration of any resulting glory or reward. For what, if he regarded recompense at all, had been the result of his earnest efforts to shape out a glorious career for himself? Lo! cruel fate had interfered, and in an hour had destroyed all that he had so far, with such unremitting diligence of purpose, accomplished for himself.

Even had it been otherwise, and were the star of his destiny still to shine resplendently over him, pointing its rays to yet newer glories, what would it profit him? Honor, after all, was like the grosser pleasures of the senses a mere earthly phantom and deception. Where peace of soul was needed, did honor give the faintest promise of it? He had often noted how men of state and condition, lying down to die, had not bewailed or repented of their lives of ease and luxury: so far, well. But when the great self-denying statesmen and generals of the empire had taken their turn at mingling with the dust, had their gathered fame and honors proved any comfort to them?

Then, as Cleon's thoughts carried him still farther along that one line of argument, even to a momentary forgetfulness of his present sad condition, new fields of reasoning spread themselves out alluringly before him. Since men were thus left to grope in blindness, living and dying in hopeless uncertainty, though the gods of Olympus might so easily

have pointed out the true end of existence, and have let it be known whether the pleasures of ease or the rewards of exertion should most earnestly be striven for, of what real consequence to men could these gods be? Not merely did they neglectfully leave everything in mist and darkness, not manifesting whether they would most readily approve of this or that course of life, but they seemed not to regard with interest any course at all.

Of a surety,

Could it be true, indeed, as so many believed, that there was only one God, and he the God of the Christians? there seemed to be a mysterious power somewhere which needed to be better comprehended. For nothing could be more certain than that, though the believers in the gods of Rome died calmly and with resignation, it was with the calmness and resignation of ignorance and despair; while in Thaloe he saw a young girl who, joyful in the hope of something better to comeBut why ponder upon this, either? Whence was any light to come-at least, to himself, the hardened, so long unreasoning soldier?

Soon the first faint gleam of pale gray light about the east showed that, though the darkness had not yet begun to pass away, the morning hours were at hand; and then a single figure, approaching with hasty steps, flung himself into the tent. It was not the figure of the expected messenger from the Tribune Balbus, but that of the page, Camillus.

"You have come?" said Cleon, with some bitterness. "I thought that you, too, had abandoned me."

"I do not well know how I ought to act," responded the page; I cannot but feel that for the sake of Alypia I should be very angry. And yet, I have so loved you that I cannot resist coming hither to warn and if possible save you. You must fly, Cleon, and at once."

"From what? And whither should I fly?" asked Cleon, moodily.

"From disgrace — destruction - death!" exclaimed the other, hurriedly; "your enemies have been thronging to the Tribune

Balbus, and have told him that you purposely allowed these insurgents to escape."

"They told him only the truth, Camillus. To you, at least, who know so much already, I can own it. Could I stand by and see Thaloe perish, and not raise a hand to save her?"

"It may be it may be so. I stop not now to ask you whether you did it with intent or not. But this I know, Cleon, that the Tribune has sent to Nero by a swift messenger the story of your fault, and asks that he may have authority here to deal with you for it."

"And then?" demanded Cleon, partially arousing from the stupor of his thoughts, but hardly as yet realizing the imminence of the situation.

"Do you not see?" responded the other, with all the desperation of frenzy. "He will here disgrace you will even claim the right to put you to death, as one who has disobeyed orders upon the field of battle; and none can save you!"

"Nay, this shall never be!" cried Cleon, now fully awakened to the danger, and starting to his feet with sudden resolution. "Disgrace-even death-I can be prepared for, but not to meet it ignobly at the traitorous pleasure of a jealous enemy! I will leave this place at once! I will go myself to Nero, and there confess all my fault and seek his pardon."

"You will surely not do that?" exclaimed the page, with yet greater alarm. "What hope can you have from one who never spares even his own kin when he is angry?" "What else is there that I can do, Camillus? Would you have me leave the camp and skulk off into the mountains, like these slaves who have just fled to be there tracked with all the ingenuity that malice and hatred can invent, and surely, at the end, be captured? That fate, at least, shall not be mine. Nero himself shall judge my fault, and in my own presence decree my sentence. It may be that he will pardon. Perchance I may find him at his table, his heart mellowed with wine or with some stale jest, so that he will be disposed towards mercy. He

is not wont to look too remorselessly upon deeds committed for a maiden's love."

"Not upon his own deeds thus committed, Cleon; but when another has done the same, who so unpitying as he?"

"It may be as you say. Even with him there may be no hope. But if the Cæsar himself decrees the utmost penalty, it will be death with dignity. To fall upon my own sword in the palace court, or to die with open veins in my bath, with my friends about me: that surely would be better than sudden, ignominious execution here. Therefore, I will now go to Nero, appearing before him as befits a suppliant, and one conscious of his fault."

With that, Cleon took off from his helmet the few insignia which marked his rank, unbuckled and laid aside his sword, and in a moment stood in no way differing in appearance from one of the common legionaries, except in the richer material of his tunic.

"Now let us go," he said; "I will leave my horse behind me, and will procure another in the city below; for were I recognized, I might even now be stopped. This time I must stealthily depart from my own camp; to-morrow-why, to-morrow I shall either be able to return a pardoned man, or else be dead, indeed. And little now does it seem to matter which it may be.”

"Let us only think of the former," exclaimed Camillus, in a sudden ecstasy of hope. "All may yet be well. Nero may forgive; and Alypia, should she know of this, may forget. And so-"

"Poor boy!" interrupted Cleon, in compassionate tone, arresting himself, for the few steps already taken had brought them to the outer border of the camp, where, at a little distance, a solitary sentinel stood at his post, keeping up, in the relaxed and needless discipline of a finished campaign, the mere form of watchfulness. "Have you yet learned so little of the world as not to know that all must now be over between Alypia and myself? Do you not perceive that even were I pardoned for this fault of mine, none the less will the memory of it always hang about my name, so that in the

future I shall be hindered from any further trust or increase of authority? And is Alypia made of such a mold that she can attach her fortunes to those of a ruined, baffled man? With her, ambition must go before love, else the latter will lose its zest and die. I blame her not. A month ago, and I myself could not have truly loved, I thought, except where fame and promotion pointed out the way. Therefore, I say, I blame her not. She will turn from me now, whatever the issue of my journey. Let her but think of me as one to whom she will wish well, and it is all I can ask. And now, farewell. Be not disconsolate. A few short hours, and everything may yet turn out for good."

"I hope, and yet I fear--"

"Why look you so strangly, Camillus? What further have you upon your mind?"

"I do not know whether- Nay, I will tell it all, Cleon. Two weeks ago, before I had left Rome, I passed your house upon the Aventine Hill, and, as I gazed up, the bust of your ancestor fell, seemingly of its own accord, from over the doorway. What should this portend, if not the ruin of your family?"

"A simple matter, after all," responded Cleon, though with some difficulty gather

ing a smile upon his face; for in a Roman's eyes the omen was a fearful one, and for the moment it smote him with dismay. "A simple matter. The stone supporting the bust was old and worn; therefore, it fell. A week ago, the circumstance might easily have troubled me; but now-how it is, I cannot tell, Camillus, but it seems to me that this day there have been mists passing away from before my mind, so that I see some things more clearly than before, and can afford to disregard other matters that once would have surely tormented me. So, though for the instant I felt startled at what you have mentioned, I can yet laugh at it, as one of those idle fancies which henceforth may have no hold upon me forever. And yet, perhaps even now too easily I fortify myself. I may yet return to all our olden superstitions. cannot tell how it will be. I feel myself groping in the twilight, and any step may bring me either into bright sunlight or carry me back to darkness. Well, once again, farewell. Whatever happens, do you, Camillus, think of me as one who loved you always as himself."

I

With that he threw his arms about the page and pressed him to his heart; and then, gliding past the inattentive sentinel, began the descent of the mountain. Leonard Kip.

Charles S. Greene.