philosopher, who had listened at first with astonishment and then with
indignation, could no longer contain himself.

"Enough!" he cried to the angry potentate, in an imperious tone. Then,
drawing himself up, he went on with offended dignity:

"I know what the end has been of so many who have aroused your wrath, and
yet I have courage enough to tell you to your face, that to injustice,
the outcome of distrust, you add the most senseless insult. Or do you
really think that a just man--for so you have called me more than once--
would outrage the manes of the beloved woman who bore him to please the
mother of another man, even though she be Caesar's? What I swear to by
the head of my mother, friend and foe alike must believe; and he who does
not, must hold me to be the vilest wretch on earth; my presence can only
be an offense to him. So I beg you to allow me to return to Rome."

The words were manly and spoken firmly, and they pleased Caracalla; for
the joy of believing in the philosopher's statement outweighed every
other feeling. And since he regarded Philostratus as the incarnation of
goodness--though he had lost faith in that--his threat of leaving
disturbed him greatly. He laid his hand on his brave adviser's arm, and
assured him that he was only too happy to believe a thing so incredible.

Any witness of the scene would have supposed this ruthless fatricide,
this tyrant--whose intercourse with the visions of a crazed and unbridled
fancy made him capable of any folly, and who loved to assume the aspect
of a cruel misanthrope--to be a docile disciple, who cared for nothing
but to recover the favor and forgiveness of his master. And
Philostratus, knowing this man, and the human heart, did not make it too
easy for him to achieve his end. When he at last gave up his purpose of