But “the deed”!  The Indian was right—­that would survive him on earth, and mankind would unite in cursing him.

Was there yet time—­was he yet capable of atoning for what was done by some great and splendid deed?  But the hundred thousand—­

The number rose before him like a mountain, blotting out every scheme he tried to form as he went to his bath—­taking his lion with him; he reveled in the warm water, and finally lay down to rest in clean linen wrappers.  No one had dared to speak to him.  His aspect was too threatening.

In a room adjoining the bath-room he had breakfast served him.  It was, as usual, a simple meal, and yet he could only swallow a few mouthfuls, for everything had a bitter taste.  The praetorian prefect was roused, and Caesar was glad to see him, for it was in attending to affairs that he most easily forgot what weighed upon him.  The more serious they were, the better, and Macrinus looked as if there was something of grave importance to be settled.

Caracalla’s first question was with reference to the Parthian ambassadors.  They had, in fact, departed; now he must prepare for war.  Caesar was eager to decide at once on the destination of each legion, and to call the legates together to a council of war; but Macrinus was not so prompt and ready as usual on such occasions.  He had that to communicate which, as he knew, would to Caesar take the head of all else.  If it should prove true, it must withdraw him altogether from the affairs of government; and this was what Macrinus aimed at when, before summoning the legates, he observed with a show of reluctance that Caesar would be wroth with him if, for the sake of a council of war, he were to defer a report which had just reached his ears.

“Business first!” cried Caracalla, with decisive prohibition.

“As you will.  I thought only of what I was told by an official of this temple, that the gem-cutter’s daughter—­you know the girl—­is still alive—­”

But he got no further, for Caesar sprang to his feet, and desired to hear more of this.

Macrinus proceeded to relate that a slaughterer in the court of sacrifice had told him that Melissa had been seen last evening, and was somewhere in the Serapeum.  More than this the prefect knew not, and Caesar forthwith dismissed him to make further inquiry before he himself should take steps to prove the truth of the report.

Then he paced the room with revived energy.  His eye sparkled, and, breathing fast, he strove to reduce the storm of schemes, plans, and hopes which surged up within him to some sort of order.  He must punish the fugitive—­but yet more surely he would never again let her out of his sight.  But if only he could first have her cast to the wild beasts, and then bring her to life again, crown her with the imperial diadem, and load her with every gift that power and wealth could procure!  He would read every wish in her eyes, if only she would