University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.
THE LOVERS.

Midsummer Night's Dream.

On the same night, and almost at the same hour of the
night, wherein that dreadful conclave was assembled at
the house of Læca, a small domestic group, consisting indeed
only of three individuals, was gathered in the tablinum,
or saloon, of an elegant though modest villa, situate
in the outskirts of the city, fronting the street that led
over the Mulvian bridge to the æmilian way, and having
a large garden communicating in the rear with the plebeian
cemetery on the Esquiline.

It was a gay and beautiful apartment, of small dimensions,
but replete with all those graceful objects, those
manifold appliances of refined taste and pleasure, for
which the Romans, austere and poor no longer, had, since
their late acquaintance with Athenian polish and Oriental
Luxury, acquired a predilection—ominous, as their sterner
patriots fancied, of personal degeneracy and national decay.

Divided from the hall of reception by thick soft curtains,
woven from the choice wool of Calabria, and glowing with
the richest hues of the Tyrian crimson; and curtained with
hangings of the same costly fabric around the windows,
both of which with the doorway opened upon a peristyle;
that little chamber wore an air of comfort, that charmed
the eye more even than its decorations. Yet these were
of no common order; for the floor was tesselated in rare
patterns of mosaic work, showing its exquisite devices and
bright colors, where they were not concealed by a foot-stool
of embroidered tapestry. The walls were portioned

out into compartments, each framed by a broad border of
gilded scroll-work on a crimson ground, and containing an
elaborately finished fresco painting; which, could they have
been seen by any critical eye of modern days, would have
set at rest for ever the question as to the state of this art
among the ancients. The subject was a favorite one with
all artists of all ages,—from the world-famous Iliad: the
story of the goddess-born Achilles. Here tutored by the
wise Centaur, Chiron, in horsemanship and archery, and
all that makes a hero; here tearing off the virgin mitre, to
don the glittering casque proffered, with sword and buckler,
among effeminate wares, by the disguised Ulysses;
there wandering in the despondent gloom of injured pride
along the stormy sea, meet listener to his haughty sorrows,
while in the distance, turning her tearful eyes back to her
lord, Briseis went unwilling at the behest of the unwilling
heralds. Again he was presented, mourning with frantic
grief over the corpse of his beloved Patroclus—grief that
called up his Nereid mother from the blue depths of her
native element; and, in the last, chasing with unexampled
speed the flying Hector, who, stunned and destined by the
Gods to ruin, dared not await his onset, while Priam veiled
his face upon the ramparts, and Hecuba already tore
her hair, presaging the destruction of Troy's invincible
unshaken column.[1]

A small wood fire blazed cheerfully upon the hearth,
round which were clustered, in uncouth attitudes of old
Etruscan sculpture, the grim and grotesque figures of the
household Gods. Two lamps of bronze, each with four
burners, placed on tall candelabra exquisitely carved in
the same metal, diffused a soft calm radiance through the
room, accompanied by an aromatic odor from the perfumed
vegetable oil which fed their light. Upon a circular table
of dark-grained citrean wood, inlaid with ivory and silver,
were several rolls of parchment and papyrus, the books of
the day, some of them splendidly emblazoned and illuminated;
a lyre of tortoiseshell, and near to it the slender
plectrum by which its cords were wakened to melody.
Two or three little flasks of agate and of onyx containing
some choice perfumes, a Tuscan vase full of fresh-gathered
flowers, and several articles yet more decidedly feminine,

were scattered on the board; needles, and thread of various
hues, and twine of gold and silver, and some embroidery,
half finished, and as it would seem but that instant
laid aside. Such was the aspect of the saloon wherein
three persons were sitting on that night; who, though they
were unconscious, nay, even unsuspicious of the existence
of conspiracy and treason, were destined, ere many days
should elapse, to be involved in its desperate mazes; to
act conspicuous parts and undergo strange perils, in the
dread drama of the times.

They were of different years and sex—one, a magnificent
and stately matron, such as Rome's matrons were when
Rome was at the proudest, already well advanced in years,
yet still possessing not merely the remains of former
charms, but much of real beauty, and that too of the noblest
and most exalted order. Her hair, which had been
black in her youth as the raven's wing, was still, though
mixed with many a line of silver, luxuriant and profuse
as ever. Simply and closely braided over her broad and
intellectual temples, and gathered into a thick knot behind,
it displayed admirably the contour of her head, and suited
the severe and classic style of her strictly Roman features.
The straight-cut eye-brows, the clear and piercing eye, the
aquiline nose, and the firm thin lips, spoke worlds of character
and decision; yet that which might have otherwise
seemed stern and even harsh, was softened by a smile of
singular sweetness, and by a lighting up of the whole countenance,
which at times imparted to those high features an
expression of benevolence, gentle and feminine in the extreme.

Her stature was well suited to the style of her lineaments;
majestically tall and stately, and though attenuated
something by the near approach of old age, preserving still
the soft and flowing outlines of a form, which had in youth
been noted for roundness and voluptuous symmetry.

She wore the plain white robes, bordered and zoned
with crimson, of a patrician lady, but save one massive signet
on the third finger of her right hand she had no gem or
ornament whatever; and as she sat a little way aloof from
her younger companions, drawing the slender threads with
many a graceful motion from the revolving distaff into the
basket by her side, she might have passed for her, whose

proud prayer, that she might be known not as the daughter
of the Scipios but as the mother of the Gracchi, was but
too fatally fulfilled in the death-earned celebrity of those
her boasted jewels.

The other lady was smaller, slighter, fairer, and altogether
so different in mien, complexion, stature, and expression,
that it was difficult even for those who knew them
well to believe that they were a mother and her only child.
For even in her flush of beauty, the elder lady, while in
the full splendor of Italian womanhood, must ever have
been calculated to inspire admiration, not all unmixed with
awe, rather than tenderness or love. The daughter, on the
other hand, was one whose every gesture, smile, word,
glance, bespoke that passion latent in itself, which it awakened
in the bosom of all beholders.

Slightly above the middle stature, and with a waist of
scarce a span's circumference, her form was exquisitely
full and rounded; the sweeping outlines of her snow-white
and dimpled arms, bare to the shoulders, and set off by many
strings of pearl, which were themselves scarcely whiter
than the skin on which they rested; the swan-like curvature
of the dazzling neck; the wavy and voluptuous development
of her bust, shrouded but not concealed by the
plaits of her white linen stola, fastened on either shoulder
by a clasp of golden fillagree, and gathered just above her
hips by a gilt zone of the Grecian fashion; the small and
shapely foot, which peered out with its jewelled sandal
under her gold-fringed draperies; combined to present to
the eye a very incarnation of that ideal loveliness, which
haunts enamored poets in their dreams, the girl just bursting
out of girlhood, the glowing Hebe of the soft and sunny
south. But if her form was lovely, how shall the pen of
mortal describe the wild romantic beauty of her soul-speaking
features. The rich redundancy of her dark auburn
hair, black where the shadows rested on it as the
sable locks of night, but glittering out wherever a wandering
ray glanced on its glossy surface like the bright tresses
of Aurora. The broad and marble forehead, the pencilled
brows, and the large liquid eyes fraught with a mild and
lustrous languor; the cheeks, pale in their wonted mood
as alabaster, yet eloquent at times with warm and passionate
blushes. The lips, redder than aught on earth which

shares both hue and softness; and, more than all, the deep
and indescribable expression which genius prints on every
lineament of those, who claim that rarest and most godlike
of endowments.

She was a thing to dream of, not describe; to dream of
in some faint and breathless eve of early summer, beside
the margin of some haunted streamlet, beneath the shade
of twilight boughs in which the fitful breeze awakes that
whispering melody, believed by the poetic ancients to be the
chorus of the wood-nymph; to dream of and adore—even
as she was adored by him who sat beside her, and watched
each varying expression, that swept across her speaking
features; and hung upon each accent of the low silvery
voice, as if he feared it were the last to which his soul
should thrill responsive.

He was a tall and powerful youth of twenty-four or five
years; yet, though his limbs were sinewy and lithe, and
though his deep round chest, thin flanks, and muscular
shoulders gave token of much growing strength, it was
still evident that, his stature having been prematurely gained,
he lacked much of that degree of power of which
his frame gave promise. For though his limbs were well
formed they were scarcely set, or furnished, as we should
say in speaking of an animal; and the strength, which he
in truth possessed, was that of elasticity and youthful vigor,
capable rather of violent though brief exertion, than that
severe and trained robustness, which can for long continuous
periods sustain the strongest and most trying labor.

His hair was dark and curling—his eye bright, clear,
and penetrating; yet was its glance at times wavering and
undetermined, such as would indicate perhaps a want of
steadiness of purpose, not of corporeal resolution, for that
was disproved by one glance at the decided curve of his
bold clean-cut mouth, and the square outlines of his massive
jaw, which seemed almost to betoken fierceness.
There was a quick short flash at times, keen as the falcon's,
in the unsteady eye, that told of energy enough within
and stirring spirit to prompt daring deeds, the momentary
irresolution conquered. There was a frank and cheery
smile that oftentimes belied the auguries drawn from the
other features; and, more than all, there was a tranquil
sweet expression, which now and then pervaded the whole

countenance, altering for the better its entire character,
and betokening more mind and deeper feelings, than would
at first have been suspected from his aspect.

His dress was the ordinary tunic of the day, of plain
white woollen stuff, belted about the middle by a girdle,
which contained his ivory tablets, and the metallic pencil
used for writing on their waxed surface, together with his
handkerchief and purse; but nothing bearing the semblance
of a weapon, not so much even as a common knife. His
legs and arms were bare, his feet being protected merely
by sandals of fine leather having the clasps or fibulæ of
gold; as was the buckle of his girdle, and one huge signet
ring, which was his only ornament.

His toga, which had been laid aside on entering the saloon,
as was the custom of the Romans in their own families,
or among private friends, hung on the back of an armed
chair; of ample size and fine material, but undistinguished
by the marks of senatorial or equestrian rank. Such
was the aspect, such the bearing of the youth, who might
be safely deemed the girl's permitted suitor, from his
whole air and manner, as he listened to the soft voice of
his beautiful mistress. For as they sat there side by side,
perusing from an illuminated scroll the elegies of some
long-perished, long-forgotten poet, now reading audibly
the smooth and honeyed lines, now commenting with playful
criticism on the style, or carrying out with all the fervor
and romance of young poetical temperament the half
obscure allusions of the bard, no one could doubt that they
were lovers; especially if he marked the calm and well-pleased
smile that stole from time to time across the proud
features of that patrician lady; who, sitting but a little way
apart, watched—while she reeled off skein after skein of
the fine Byssine flax in silence—the quiet happiness of the
young pair.

Thus had the evening passed, not long nor tediously to
any of the party; and midnight was at hand; when there
entered from the atrium a grey-headed slave bearing a
tray covered with light refreshments—fresh herbs, endive
and mallows sprinkled with snow, ripe figs, eggs and anchovies,
dried grapes, and cakes of candied honey; while
two boys of rare beauty followed, one carrying a flagon of
Chian wine diluted with snow water, the other a platter

richly chased in gold covered with cyathi, or drinking cups,
some of plain chrystal, some of that unknown myrrhine
fabric,[2] which is believed by many scholars to have been
highly vitrified and half-transparent porcelain.

A second slave brought in a folded stand, like a camp
stool in shape, on which the tray was speedily deposited,
while on a slab of Parian marble, near which the two boys
took their stand, the wine and goblets were arranged in
glittering order.

So silently, however, was all this done, that, their preparations
made, the elder slaves had retired with a deep
genuflexion, leaving the boys only to administer at that unceremonious
banquet, ere the young couple, whose backs
were turned towards the table, perceived the interruption.

The brilliant smile, which has been mentioned, beamed
from the features of the elder lady, as she perceived how
thoroughly engrossed, even to the unconsciousness of any
passing sound, they were, whom, rising for the purpose,
and laying by her work, she now proceeded to recall to
sublunary matters.

“Paullus,” she said, “and you, my Julia, ye are unconscious
how the fleeting hours have slipped away. The
night hath far advanced into the third watch. I would not
part ye needlessly, nor over soon, especially when you
must so soon perforce be severed; but we must not forget
how long a homeward walk awaits our dear Arvina.
Come, then, and partake some slight refreshment, before
you say farewell.

“How thoughtless in me, to have detained you thus, and
with a mile to walk this murky and unpleasant night.
They say, too, that the streets are dangerous of late, haunted
by dissolute night-revellers—that villain Clodius and
his infamous co-mates. I tremble like a leaf if I but meet
them in broad day—and what if you should fall in with
them, when flushed with wine, and ripe for any outrage?”

“Fie! dear one, fie!” answered the young man with a
smile—“a sorry soldier wouldst thou make of me, who am
within so short a space to meet the savages of Pontus, under
our mighty Pompey! There is no danger, Julia, here
in the heart of Rome; and my stout freedman Thrasea

awaits me with his torch. Nor is it so far either to my
house, for those who cross, as I shall do, the cemetery on
the Esquiline. 'Tis but a step across the sumptuous Carinæ
to the Cælian.”

“But surely, surely, Paul,” exclaimed the lovely girl,
laying her hand upon his arm, “thou wouldst not cross
that fearful burying-ground, haunted by all things awful
and obscene, thus at the dead of night. Oh! do not,
dearest,” she continued, “thou knowest not what wild
terrible tales are rife, of sounds and sights unnatural and
superhuman, encountered in those loathsome precincts.
'Tis a mere tempting of the Dark Ones, to brave the horrors
of that place!”

“The Gods, my Julia,” replied the youth unmoved by
her alarm, “the Gods are never absent from their votaries,
so they be innocent and pure of spirit. For me! I am
unconscious of a wilful fault, and fear not anything.”

“Well said, Paullus Arvina,” exclaimed the elder lady,
“and worthily of your descent from the Cæcilii”—for
from that noble house his family indeed derived its origin.
“But, although I,” she added, “counsel you not to
heed our Julia's girlish terrors, I love you not to walk
by night so slenderly accompanied. Ho! boy, go summon
me the steward, and bid him straightway arm four
of the Thracian slaves.”

“No! by the Gods, Hortensia!” the young man interrupted
her, his whole face flushing with excitement,
“you do shame to my manhood, by your caution. There
is in truth no shadow of danger. Besides,” he added,
laughing at his own impetuosity, “I shall be far beyond
the Esquiline ere excellent old Davus could rouse those
sturdy knaves of yours, or find the armory key; for lo!
I will but tarry to taste one cup of your choice of Chian
to my Julia's health, and then straight homeward. Have
a care, my fair boy, that flagon is too heavy to be lifted
safely by such small hands as thine, and its contents too
precious to be wasted. Soh! that's well done; thou'lt
prove a second Ganymede! Health, Julia, and good dreams
—may all fair things attend thee, until we meet again.”

“And when shall that be, Paul,” whispered his mistress,
a momentary flush shooting across brow, neck, and
bosom, as she spoke, and leaving her, a second afterward,

even paler than her wont, between anxiety and fear, and
the pain even of this temporary parting—“when shall
that be? to-morrow?”

“Surely, to-morrow! fairest,” he replied, clasping her
little hand with a fond pressure, “unless, which may the
Gods avert! anything unforeseen prevent me. Give me
my toga, boy,” he added, “and see if Thrasea waits, and
if his torch be lighted.”

“Bid him come hither, Geta,” Hortensia interposed,
addressing the boy as he left the room, “and tell old
Davus to accompany him, bringing the keys of the peristyle
and of the garden gate. So shalt thou gain the Esquiline
more easily.”

Her orders were obeyed as soon as they were spoken,
and but few moments intervened before the aged steward,
and the freedman with his staff and torch, the latter so
prepared by an art common to the ancients as to set
almost any violence of wind or rain at defiance, stood waiting
their commands.

Familiar and kind words were interchanged between
those high-born ladies and the trustworthy follower of
young Arvina. For those were days, when no cold etiquette
fettered the freedom of the tongue, and when no
rank, how stately or how proud soever, induced austerity
of bearing or haughtiness toward inferiors; and these concluded,
greetings, briefer but far more warm, followed between
the master and his intended bride.

“Sweet slumbers, Julia, and a happy wakening attend
you! Farewell, Hortensia; both of ye farewell!” and
passing into the colonnade through the door which Davus
had unlocked, he drew the lappet of his toga over his head
after the fashion of a hood to shield it from the drizzling
rain—for, except on a journey, the hardy Romans never
wore any hat or headgear—and hastened with a firm and
regular step along the marble peristyle. This portico, or
rather piazza, enclosed, by a double row of Tuscan
columns, a few small flower beds, and a fountain springing
high in the air from the conch of a Triton, and falling back
into a large shell of white marble, which it was so contrived
as to keep ever full without at any time overflowing.

Beyond this was a summer triclinium or dining room
facing the north, and provided with the three-sided couch,

from which it took its name, embracing a circular table.
Through this they passed into a smaller court adorned like
the other by a jet d'eau, surrounded by several small
boudoirs and bed chambers luxuriously decorated, which
were set apart to the use of the females of the family, and
guarded night and day by the most trusty of the slaves.

Hence a strong door gave access to a walled space,
throughout the length of which on either hand ran a long
range of offices, and above them the dormitories of the
slaves, with a small porter's lodge or guard room by the
gate, opening on the orchard in the rear.

Therein were stationed the four Thracians, mentioned
by Hortensia, whose duty it was to keep watch alternately
over the safety of the postern, although the key was not
entrusted to their charge; and he, whose watch it was,
started up from a bench on which he had been stretched,
and looked forth torch in hand at the sound of approaching
footsteps. Seeing, however, who it was, and
that the steward attended him, he lent his aid in opening
the postern, and reverently bowed the knee to Arvina, as
he departed from the hospitable villa.

The orchard through which lay his onward progress,
occupied a considerable extent of ground, laid out in terraces
adorned with marble urns and statues, long bowery
walks sheltered by vine-clad trellices, and rows of fruit
trees interspersed with many a shadowy clump of the rich
evergreen holm-oak, the tufted stone-pine, the clustering
arbutus, and smooth-leaved laurestinus. This lovely spot
was separated from the plebeian cemetery only—as has
been said already—by a low wall; and therefore in those
days of universal superstition, the lower orders and the
slaves, and many too of their employers, would have eschewed
it as a place ominous of evil, if not unsafe and
perilous.

The mind of Paul, however, if not entirely free from
any touch of superstitious awe, which at that period of the
world would have been a thing altogether unnatural and
impossible, was at least of too firm a mould to shake at
mere imaginary terrors; and he strode on, lighted by his
torch-bearer, through the dark mazes of the orchard, with
all his thoughts engrossed by the pleasant reminiscences
of the past evening. Thoughtless, however, as he was,

and bold, he yet recoiled a step, and the blood rushed
tumultuously to his heart, as a loud yelling cry, protracted
strangely, and ending in a sound midway between a
groan and a burst of horrid laughter, rose awfully upon
the silent night; and it required an effort to man his
heart against a feeling, which crept through him, nearly
akin to fear.

But with the freedman Thrasea it was a very different
matter, for he shook so much with absolute terror, that he
had well nigh dropped the torch; while, drawing nearer to
his master's side, with teeth that chattered as if in an ague
fit, and a face deserted by every particle of color, he besought
him in faltering accents, “by all the Gods! to turn
back instantly, lest evil might come of it!”

His entreaties were, however, of no avail with the
brave youth, who in a moment had shaken off his transitory
terror, and was now resolute, not only to proceed
on his homeward route, but to investigate the cause and
meaning of the outcry.

“Silence!” he said, somewhat sternly, in answer to the
reiterated prayers of the trembling servitor, “Silence!
and follow, idiot! That was no superhuman voice—no yell
of nightly lemures, but the death-cry, if I err not more
widely, of some frail mortal like ourselves. There may
be time, however, yet to save him, and I so truly marked
the quarter whence it rose, that I doubt not we may discover
him. Advance the light; lo! we are at the wall.
Lower thy torch now, that I may undo the wicket. Give
me thy club and keep close at my heels bearing the flambeau
high!”

And with the words he strode out rapidly into the
wide desolate expanse of the plebeian grave yard. It
was a broad bleak space, comprising the whole table land
and southern slope of the Esquiline hill, broken with
many deep ravines and gulleys, worn by the wintry rains,
covered with deep rank grass and stunted bushes, with
here and there a grove of towering cypresses, or dark
funereal yews, casting a deeper shadow over the gloomy
solitude. So rough and broken was the surface of the
ground, so numerous the low mounds which alone covered
the ashes of the humbler dead, that they were long
in reaching the vicinity of the spot where that fell deed

had been done so recently. When they had come, however,
to the foot of the descent, where it swept gently
downward to the boundary wall, the young man took
the torch from his attendant, and waving it with a slow
movement to and fro, surveyed the ground with close and
narrow scrutiny. He had not moved in this manner
above a dozen paces, before a bright quick flash seemed
to shoot up from the long thick herbage as the glare of
the torch passed over it. Another step revealed the nature
and the cause of that brief gleam; a ray had fallen
full on the polished blade of Cataline's stiletto, which lay,
where it had been cast by the expiring effort of the victim,
hilt downward in the tangled weeds.

He seized it eagerly, but shuddered, as he beheld the
fresh dark gore curdling on the broad steel, and clotted
round the golden guard of the rich weapon.

“Ha!” he exclaimed, “I am right, Thrasea. Foul
murder hath been done here! Let us look farther.”

Several minutes now were spent in searching every foot
of ground, and prying even into the open vaults of several
broken graves; for at first they had taken a wrong direction
in the gloom. Quickly, however, seeing that he
was in error, Arvina turned upon his traces, and was almost
immediately successful; for there, scarce twenty feet
from the spot where he had found the dagger, with his
grim gory face turned upward as if reproachfully to the
dark quiet skies, the black death-sweat still beaded on
his frowning brow, and a sardonic grin distorting his pale
lips, lay the dead slave. Flat on his back, with his arms
stretched out right and left, his legs extended close together
to their full length, he lay even as he had fallen; for
not a struggle had convulsed his limbs after he struck the
earth; life having actually fled while he yet stood erect,
battling with all the energies of soul and body against
man's latest enemy. The bosom of his gray tunic, rent
asunder, displayed the deep gash which had let out the
spirit, whence the last drops of the thick crimson life-blood
were ebbing with a slow half-stagnant motion.

On this dread sight Paul was still gazing in that motionless
and painful silence, with which the boldest cannot
fail to look upon the body of a fellow creature from which
the immortal soul has been reluctantly and forcefully expelled,

when a loud cry from Thrasea, who, having lagged
a step or two behind, was later in discovering the corpse,
aroused him from his melancholy stupor.

“Alas! alas! ah me!” cried the half-sobbing freedman,
“my friend, my more than friend, my countryman, my
kinsman, Medon!”

“Ha! dost thou recognize the features? didst thou know
him who lies so coldly and inanimately here before us?”
cried the excited youth, “whose slave was he? speak,
Thrasea, on thy life! this shall be looked to straightway;
and, by the Gods! avenged.”

“As I would recognize mine own in the polished brass,
as I do know my father's sister's son! for such was he, who
lies thus foully slaughtered. Alas! alas! my countryman!
wo! wo! for thee, my Medon! Many a day, alas! many
a happy day have we two chased the elk and urus by the
dark-wooded Danube; the same roof covered us; the same
board fed; the same fire warmed us; nay! the same fatal
battle-field robbed both of liberty and country. Yet were
the great Gods merciful to the poor captives. Thy father
did buy me, Arvina, and a few years of light and pleasant
servitude restored the slave to freedom. Medon was purchased
by the wise consul, Cicero, and was to have received
his freedom at the next Saturnalia. Alas! and wo is
me, he is now free forever from any toils on earth, from
any mortal master.”

“Nay! weep not so, my Thrasea,” exclaimed the generous
youth, laying his left hand with a friendly pressure on
the freedman's shoulder, “thou shalt have all means to do
all honor to his name; all that can now be done by mortals
for the revered and sacred dead. Aid me now to remove
the body, lest those who slew him may return, and
carry off the evidences of their crime.”

Thus speaking, he thrust the unlighted end of the torch
into the ground, and lifting up the shoulders of the carcase,
while Thrasea raised the feet, bore it away a hundred
yards or better, and laying it within the open arch-way of
an old tomb, covered the mouth with several boughs torn
from a neighboring cypress.

Then satisfied that it would thus escape a nearer search
than it was likely would be made by the murderers, when

they should find that it had been removed, he walked away
very rapidly toward his home.

Before he left the burial ground, however, he wiped the
dagger carefully in the long grass, and hid it in the bosom
of his tunic.

No more words were exchanged—the master buried in
deep thought, the servant stupified with grief and terror—
until they reached the house of Paullus, in a fair quarter
of the town, near to the street of Carinæ, the noblest and
most sumptuous in Rome.

A dozen slaves appeared within the hall, awaiting the
return of their young lord, but he dismissed them all;
and when they had departed, taking a small night lamp,
and ordering Thrasea to waken him betimes to-morrow,
that he might see the consul, he bade him be of good
cheer, for that Medon's death should surely be avenged,
since the gay dagger would prove a clue to the detection
of his slayer. Then, passing into his own chamber, he
soon lost all recollection of his hopes, joys, cares, in the
sound sleep of innocence and youth.