’Witch, I thank thee for thy care of one not ungrateful.  On yon table stands a cup of gold; take it, it is thine.  I dreamt not that there lived one, out of the priesthood of Isis, who would have saved Arbaces from destruction.  The signs thou hast seen in the bed of the extinct volcano,’ continued the Egyptian, musingly, ’surely tell of some coming danger to the city; perhaps another earthquake—­fiercer than the last.  Be that as it may, there is a new reason for my hastening from these walls.  After this day I will prepare my departure.  Daughter of Etruria, whither wendest thou?’

’I shall cross over to Herculaneum this day, and, wandering thence along the coast, shall seek out a new home.  I am friendless:  my two companions, the fox and the snake, are dead.  Great Hermes, thou hast promised me twenty additional years of life!’

‘Aye,’ said the Egyptian, ‘I have promised thee.  But, woman,’ he added, lifting himself upon his arm, and gazing curiously on her face, ’tell me, I pray thee, wherefore thou wishest to live?  What sweets dost thou discover in existence?’

‘It is not life that is sweet, but death that is awful,’ replied the hag, in a sharp, impressive tone, that struck forcibly upon the heart of the vain star-seer.  He winced at the truth of the reply; and no longer anxious to retain so uninviting a companion, he said, ’Time wanes; I must prepare for the solemn spectacle of this day.  Sister, farewell! enjoy thyself as thou canst over the ashes of life.’

The hag, who had placed the costly gift of Arbaces in the loose folds of her vest, now rose to depart.  When she had gained the door she paused, turned back, and said, ’This may be the last time we meet on earth; but whither flieth the flame when it leaves the ashes?—­Wandering to and fro, up and down, as an exhalation on the morass, the flame may be seen in the marshes of the lake below; and the witch and the Magian, the pupil and the master, the great one and the accursed one, may meet again.  Farewell!’

‘Out, croaker!’ muttered Arbaces, as the door closed on the hag’s tattered robes; and, impatient of his own thoughts, not yet recovered from the past dream, he hastily summoned his slaves.

It was the custom to attend the ceremonials of the amphitheatre in festive robes, and Arbaces arrayed himself that day with more than usual care.  His tunic was of the most dazzling white:  his many fibulae were formed from the most precious stones:  over his tunic flowed a loose eastern robe, half-gown, half-mantle, glowing in the richest hues of the Tyrian dye; and the sandals, that reached half way up the knee, were studded with gems, and inlaid with gold.  In the quackeries that belonged to his priestly genius, Arbaces never neglected, on great occasions, the arts which dazzle and impose upon the vulgar; and on this day, that was for ever to release him, by the sacrifice of Glaucus, from the fear of a rival and the chance of detection, he felt that he was arraying himself as for a triumph or a nuptial feast.