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Presently I became conscious of a deep murmuring sound tike the subdued hum of many thousands of voices,—­and lifting my eyes I saw the wide circular sweep of a vast arena crowded with people.  In the centre, and well to the front of the uplifted tiers of seats, there was a gorgeous pavilion of gold, draped with gaudy coloured silk and hung with festoons of roses, wherein sat a heavily-built, brutish-looking man royally robed and crowned, and wearing jewels In such profusion as to seem literally clothed in flashing points of light.  Beautiful women were gathered round him,—­boys with musical instruments crouched at his feet—­attendants stood on every hand to minister to his slightest call or signal,—­and all eyes were fixed upon him as upon some worshipped god of a nation’s idolatry.  I felt and knew that I was looking upon the ‘shadow-presentment’ of the Roman tyrant Nero; and I wondered vaguely how it chanced that he, in all the splendour of his wild and terrible career of wickedness, should be brought into this phantasmagoria of dream in which I and One Other alone seemed to be chiefly concerned.  There were strange noises in my ears,—­the loud din of trumpets—­the softer sound of harps played enchantingly in some far-off distance—­the ever-increasing loud buzzing of the voices of the multitude—­and then all at once the roar as of angry wild beasts in impatience or pain.  The time of this vision seemed to be late afternoon—­I thought I could see a line of deep rose colour in a sky where the sun had lately set—­the flare of torches glimmered all round the arena and beyond it, striking vivid brilliancy from the jewels on Nero’s breast and throwing into strong relief the groups of soldiers and people immediately around him.  I perceived now that the centre of the arena, previously empty, had become the one spot on which the looks of the people began to turn—­one woman stood there all alone, clad in white, her arms crossed on her breast.  So still was she,—­so apparently unconscious of her position, that the mob, ever irritated by calmness, grew suddenly furious, and a fierce cry arose:—­“Ad leones!  Ad leones!” The great Emperor stirred from his indolent, half-reclining position and leaned forward with a sudden look of interest on his lowering features,—­and as he did so a man attired in the costume of a gladiator entered the arena from one of its side doors and with a calm step and assured demeanour walked up to the front of the royal dais and there dropped on one knee.  Then quickly rising he drew himself erect and waited, his eyes fixed on the woman who stood as immovably as a statue, apparently resigned to some untoward fate.  And again the vast crowd shouted “Ad leones!  Ad leones!” There came a heavy grating noise of drawn bolts and bars—­ the sound of falling chains—­then a savage animal roar—­and two lean and ferocious lions sprang into the arena, lashing their tails, their manes bristling and their eyes aglare.  Quick