So still lay the figure, and so dim was its outline, that any other than Arbaces might have felt a superstitious fear, lest he beheld one of those grim lemures, who, above all other spots, haunted the threshold of the homes they formerly possessed.  But not for Arbaces were such dreams.

‘Rise!’ said he, touching the figure with his foot; ’thou obstructest the way!’

’Ha! who art thou cried the form, in a sharp tone, and as she raised herself from the ground, the starlight fell full on the pale face and fixed but sightless eyes of Nydia the Thessalian.  ’Who art thou?  I know the burden of thy voice.’

’Blind girl! what dost thou here at this late hour?  Fie!—­is this seeming thy sex or years?  Home, girl!’

‘I know thee,’ said Nydia, in a low voice, ’thou art Arbaces the Egyptian’:  then, as if inspired by some sudden impulse, she flung herself at his feet, and clasping his knees, exclaimed, in a wild and passionate tone, ’Oh dread and potent man! save him—­save him!  He is not guilty—­it is I!  He lies within, ill-dying, and I—­I am the hateful cause!  And they will not admit me to him—­they spurn the blind girl from the hall.  Oh, heal him! thou knowest some herb—­some spell—­some countercharm, for it is a potion that hath wrought this frenzy!

’Hush, child!  I know all!—­thou forgettest that I accompanied Julia to the saga’s home.  Doubtless her hand administered the draught; but her reputation demands thy silence.  Reproach not thyself—­what must be, must:  meanwhile, I seek the criminal—­he may yet be saved.  Away!’

Thus saying, Arbaces extricated himself from the clasp of the despairing Thessalian, and knocked loudly at the door.

In a few moments the heavy bars were heard suddenly to yield, and the porter, half opening the door, demanded who was there.

’Arbaces—­important business to Sallust relative to Glaucus.  I come from the praetor.’

The porter, half yawning, half groaning, admitted the tall form of the Egyptian.  Nydia sprang forward.  ‘How is he?’ she cried; ’tell me—­tell me!’

’Ho, mad girl! is it thou still?—­for shame!  Why, they say he is sensible.’

’The gods be praised!—­and you will not admit me?  Ah!  I beseech thee...’

’Admit thee!—­no.  A pretty salute I should prepare for these shoulders were I to admit such things as thou!  Go home!’

The door closed, and Nydia, with a deep sigh, laid herself down once more on the cold stones; and, wrapping her cloak round her face, resumed her weary vigil.

Meanwhile Arbaces had already gained the triclinium, where Sallust, with his favorite freedman, sat late at supper.

‘What!  Arbaces! and at this hour!—­Accept this cup.’

’Nay, gentle Sallust; it is on business, not pleasure, that I venture to disturb thee.  How doth thy charge?—­they say in the town that he has recovered sense.’