“At any moment without winking an eyelash.”

“I thank you for those words.  It has turned out a pleasant evening, and what a bad one I looked forward to—­”

“Because the woman by the tomb startled you?”

“‘Dead,’ is a grim word.  It is true that ’death’—­being dead—­can frighten no wise man; but the step out of light into darkness is fearful.  I cannot get the figure of the old hag and her shrill cry out of my mind.  Then the Christian came up, and his discourse was strange and disturbing to my soul.  Before it grew dark he and the limping girl went homewards; I stood looking after them and my eyes were dazzled by the sun which was sinking over the Libyan range.  The horizon was clear, but behind the day-star there were clouds.  In the west, the Egyptians say, lies the realm of death.  I could not help thinking of this; and the oracle, the misfortunes that the stars threatened me with in the course of this year, the cry of the old woman—­all these crowded into my mind together.  But then, as I observed how the sun struggled with the clouds and approached nearer and nearer to the hill-tops on the farther side of the river, I said to myself:  If it sets in full radiance you may look confidently to the future; if it is swallowed up by clouds before it sinks to rest, then destiny will fulfil itself; then you must shorten sail and wait for the storm.”

“And what happened?”

“The fiery globe burnt in glowing crimson, surrounded by a million rays.  Each seemed separate from the rest and shone with glory of its own; it was as though the sinking disc had been the centre of bow-shots innumerable and golden arrow-shafts radiated to the sky in every direction.  The scene was magnificent and my heart beat high with happy excitement, when suddenly and swiftly a dark cloud fell, as though exasperated by the wounds it had received from those fiery darts; a second followed, and a third, and sinister Daimons flung a dark and fleecy curtain over the glorious head of Helios, as the executioner throws a coarse black cloth over the head of the condemned, when he sets his knee against him to strangle him.”

At this narrative Antinous covered his face with both hands, and murmured in terror: 

“Frightful, frightful!  What can be hanging over us?  Only listen, how it thunders, and the rain thrashes the tent.”

“The clouds are pouring out torrents; see the water is coming in already.  The slaves must dig gutters for it to run off.  Drive the pegs tighter you fellows out there or the whirlwind will tear down the slight structure.”

“And how sultry the air is!”

“The hot wind seems to warm even the flood of rain.  Here it is still dry; mix me a cup of wine, Antinous.  Have any letters come?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Give them to me, Mastor.”

The slave, who was busily engaged in damming up with earth and stones, the trickling stream of rain-water that was soaking into the tent, sprang up, hastily dried his hands, took a sack out of the chest in which the Emperor’s despatches were kept and gave it to his master.  Hadrian opened the leather bag, took out a roll, hastily broke it open, and then, after rapidly glancing at the contents, exclaimed: