I come in sober, not a night, when I do not see her dear face, either
waking or dreaming. Of all things sacred, the thought of her is the
highest; and if she had been raised to divine honors like the dead
Caesars who have brought so many curses on the world--"

"Hush--don't speak so loud!" said Melissa, seriously, for men were
moving to and fro among the tombs, and Roman guards kept watch over the
populace.

But the rash youth went on in the same tone:

"I would worship her gladly, though I have forgotten how to pray. For
who can tell here--unless he follows the herd and worships Serapis--who
can tell to which god of them all he shall turn when he happens to be at
his wits' end? While my mother lived, I, like you, could gladly worship
and sacrifice to the immortals; but Philip has spoiled me for all that.
As to the divine Caesars, every one thinks as I do. My mother would
sooner have entered a pesthouse than the banqueting-hall where they
feast, on Olympus. Caracalla among the gods! Why, Father Zeus cast his
son Hephaistos on earth from the height of Olympus, and only broke his
leg; but our Caesar accomplished a more powerful throw, for he cast his
brother through the earth into the nether world--an imperial thrust--and
not merely lamed him but killed him."

"Well done!" said a deep voice, interrupting the young artist. "Is that
you, Alexander? Hear what new titles to fame Heron's son can find for
the imperial guest who is to arrive to-morrow."

"Pray hush!" Melissa besought him, looking up at the bearded man who had
laid his arm on Alexander's shoulder. It was Glaukias the sculptor, her