A repast was served, and he shared it with his niece; but Iras did not touch the carefully chosen viands, and Archibius barely tasted them.  Then, without waiting for dessert, he rose to go to his sister’s apartments.  But Iras urged him to rest on the divan in the adjoining room, and he yielded.  Yet, spite of the softness of the pillows and his great need of sleep, he could not find it; anxiety kept him awake, and through the curtain which divided the room in which Iras remained from the one he occupied he sometimes heard her light footsteps pacing restlessly to and fro, sometimes the coming and going of messengers in quest of news.

All his former life passed before his mind.  Cleopatra had been his sun, and now black clouds were rising which would dim its light, perchance forever.  He, the disciple of Epicurus, who had not followed the doctrines of other masters until later in life, held the same view of the gods as his first master.  To him also they had seemed immortal beings sufficient unto themselves, dwelling free from anxiety in blissful peace, to whom mortals must look upward on account of their supreme grandeur, but who neither troubled themselves about the guidance of the world, which was fixed by eternal laws, nor the fate of individuals.  Had he been convinced of the contrary, he would have sacrificed everything he possessed in order, by lavish offerings, to propitiate the immortals in behalf of her to whom he had devoted his life and every faculty of his being.

Like Iras, he, too, could find no rest upon his couch, and when she heard his step she called to him and asked why he did not recover the sleep which he had lost.  No one knew the demands the next night might make upon him.

“You will find me awake,” he answered quietly.

Then he went to the window which, above the pylons that rose before the main front of the Sebasteum, afforded a view of the Bruchium and the sea.  The harbour was now swarming with vessels of every size, garlanded with flowers and adorned with gay flags and streamers.  The report of the successful issue of the first naval battle was believed, and many desired to greet the victorious fleet and hail their sovereign as she entered the harbour.

Many people, equipages, and litters had also gathered on the shore, between the lofty pylons and the huge door of the Sebasteum.  They were representatives of the aristocracy of the city; for the majority were attended by richly attired slaves.  Many wore costly garlands, and numerous chariots and litters were adorned with gold or silver ornaments, gems, and glittering paste.  The stir and movement in front of the palace were ceaseless, and Iras, who was now standing beside her uncle, waved her hand towards it, saying:  “The wind of rumour!  Yesterday only one or two came; to-day every one who belongs to the ‘Inimitable Livers’ flocks hither in person to get news.  The victory was proclaimed in the market-place, at the theatre,