“Let me go now,” Melissa whispered to her friend.  “He sleeps, and will not wake for some time.”

“At your command,” answered the philosopher, respectfully.  At the same moment a loud voice was heard from the next room, which Melissa recognized as her brother Alexander’s, who impetuously insisted on his right of—­being allowed at any time to see the emperor.

“He will wake him,” murmured the philosopher, anxiously; but Melissa with prompt determination threw her veil over her head and went into the adjoining room.

Philostratus at first heard violent language issuing from the mouth of Theocritus and the other courtiers, and the artist’s answers were not less passionate.  Then he recognized Melissa’s voice; and when quiet suddenly reigned on that side of the door, the young girl again crossed the threshold.

She glanced toward Caracalla to see if he still slept, and then, with a sigh of relief, beckoned to her friend, and begged him in a whisper to escort her past the staring men.  Alexander followed them.

Anger and surprise were depicted on his countenance, which was usually so happy.  He had come with a report which might very likely induce Caesar to order the release of his father and brother, and his heart had stood still with fear and astonishment when the favorite Theocritus had told him in the anteroom, in a way that made the blood rush into his face, that his sister had been for some time endeavoring to comfort the suffering emperor—­and it was nearly midnight.

Quite beside himself, he wished to force his way into Caesar’s presence, but Melissa had at that moment come out and stood in his way, and had desired him and the noble Romans, in such a decided and commanding tone, to lower their voices, that they and her brother were speechless.

What had happened to his modest sister during the last few days?  Melissa giving him orders which he feebly obeyed!  It seemed impossible!  But there was something reassuring in her manner.  She must certainly have thought it right to act thus, and it must have been worthy of her, or she would not have carried her charming head so high, or looked him so freely and calmly in the face.

But how had she dared to come between him and his duty to his father and brother?

While he followed her closely and silently through the imperial rooms, the implicit obedience he had shown her became more and more difficult to comprehend; and when at last they stood in the empty corridor which divided Caesar’s quarters from those of the high-priest, and Philostratus had returned to his post at the side of his sovereign, he could hold out no longer, and cried to her indignantly: 

“So far, I have followed you like a boy; I do not myself know why.  But it is not yet too late to turn round; and I ask you, what gave you the right to prevent my doing my best for our people?”

“Your loud talking, that threatened to wake Caesar,” she replied, seriously.  “His sleeping could alone save me from watching by him the whole night.”