Arjuna made haste that he might escape from the presence of the horrible man, and Caesar took no heed either of the pallor of his handsome brown face or the trembling of his slender fingers, for a crowd of thoughts made him blind and deaf to all that was going on around him.  They reverted first to the events of the day; but as the Indian removed the warm surcoat, the night breeze blew coldly into the room, and he shivered.  Was it the spirit of the slain Tarautas which had floated in at the open window?  The cold breath which fanned his cheek was certainly no mere draught.  It was exactly like a human sigh, only it was cold instead of warm.  If it proceeded from the ghost of the dead gladiator he must be quite close to him.  And the fancy gained reality in his mind; he saw a floating human form which beckoned him and softly laid a cold hand on his shoulder.

He, Caesar, had linked his fate to that of the gladiator, and now Tarautas had come to warn him.  But Caracalla had no mind to follow him; he forbade the apparition with a loud cry of “Away!” At this the Indian started, and though he could scarcely utter the words, he besought Caesar to be seated that he might take off his laced shoes; and then Caracalla perceived that it was an illusion that had terrified him, and he shrugged his shoulders, somewhat ashamed.  While the slave was busy he wiped his damp brow, saying to himself with a proud smile that of course spirits never appeared in broad light and when others were present.

At last he dismissed the Indian and lay down.  His head was burning, and his heart beat too violently for sleep.  At his bidding Epagathos and Adventus followed the Indian into the adjoining room after extinguishing the lamp. . .  Caracalla was alone in the dark.  Awaiting sleep, he stretched himself at full length, but he remained as wide awake as by day.  And still he could not help thinking of the immediate past.  Even his enemies could not deny that it was his duty as a man and an emperor to inflict the severest punishment on this town, and to make it feel his avenging hand; and yet he was beginning to be aware of the ruthlessness of his commands.  He would have been glad to talk it all over with some one else.  But Philostratus, the only man who understood him, was out of reach; he had sent him to his mother.  And for what purpose?  To tell her that he, Caesar, had found a wife after his own heart, and to win her favor and consent.  At this thought the blood surged up in him with rage and shame.  Even before they were wed his chosen bride had been false to him; she had fled from his embraces, as he now knew, to death, never to return.

He would gladly have sent a galley in pursuit to bring Philostratus back again; but the vessel in which the philosopher had embarked was one of the swiftest in the imperial fleet, and it had already so long a start that to overtake it would be almost impossible.  So within a few days Philostratus would meet his mother; he, if any one, could describe Melissa’s beauty in the most glowing colors, and that he would do so to the empress, his great friend, was beyond a doubt.  But the haughty Julia would scarcely be inclined to accept the gem-cutter’s child for a daughter; indeed, she did not wish that he should ever marry again.