His wife, whose bitter nature struck him in all its repellent harshness here in Alexandria—­where everything assumed sharper outlines and more accentuated movement than in Rome—­had demanded of him boldly that he should no longer defer the adoption of the praetor.

He was anxious and unsatisfied; the infinite void in his heart yawned before him whenever he looked into his soul, and at every glance at the future of his external life a long course of petty trifles started up before him which could not fail to stand in the way of his unwearying impulse to work.  Even the vegetative existence of his handsome favorite Antinous, untroubled as it was by the sorrows or the joys of life, had undergone a change.  The youth was often moody, restless and sad.  Some foreign influences seemed to have affected him, for he was no longer content to hang about his person like a shadow; no, he yearned for liberty, had stolen into the city several times, seeking there the pleasures of his age which formerly he had avoided.

Nay, a change had even come over his cheerful and willing slave Mastor.  Only his hound remained always the same in unaltered fidelity.

And he himself?  He was the same to-day as ten years since:  different every day and at every hour of the day.

CHAPTER XIII.

When Verus entered the palace Hadrian had returned thither but a few minutes previously from the city.  The praetor was conducted through the reception-rooms to the private apartments, and here he had not long to wait, for Hadrian wished to speak with him immediately.  He found the sovereign so thoroughly out of tune that he could not think of inviting him to his banquet.  The Emperor restlessly paced the room while Verus answered his questions as to the latest proceedings of the Senate in Rome, but he several times interrupted his walk and gazed into the adjoining room.

Just as the praetor had concluded his report Argus set up a howl of delight and Antinous came into the room.  Verus at once withdrew into the window and pretended to be absorbed in looking out on the harbor.

“Where have you been?” asked the Emperor, disregarding the praetor’s presence.

“Into the city a little way,” was the Bithynian’s answer.

“But you know I cannot bear to miss you when I come home.”

“I thought you would have been longer absent.”

“For the future arrange so that I may be able to find you at whatever time I may seek you.  Tell me, you do not like to see me vexed and worried?”

“No, my lord,” said the lad and he raised a supplicating hand and looked beseechingly at his master.

“Then let it pass.  But now for something else; how did this little phial come into the hands of the dealer Hiram?” As he spoke the Emperor took from his table the little bottle of Vasa Murrhina which the lad had given to Arsinoe and which she had sold to the Phoenician, and held it up before the favorite’s eyes.  Antinous turned pale, and stammered in great confusion.  “It is incomprehensible—­I cannot in the least recollect—­”