of life and death with her lover, while disturbing Caracalla would only postpone his recovery a few hours at the utmost.  It was she who had procured the imperial sleeper his rest, which she could certainly restore to him even if she now woke him.  Just now she had vowed for the future not to care about her own welfare, and that had at first made her doubtful about Caracalla; but had it not really been exceedingly selfish to lose the time which could bring freedom to her father and brother, only to protect her own soul from the reproach of an easily forgiven wrong?  With the question: 

“What is your duty?” all doubts left her, and no longer on tiptoe, but with a firm, determined tread, she walked toward the slumberer’s couch, and the outrage which she shrank from committing would, she saw, be a deed of kindness; for she found the emperor with perspiring brow groaning and frightened by a severe nightmare.  He cried with the dull, toneless voice of one talking in his sleep, as if he saw her close by: 

“Away, mother, I say!  He or I!  Out of the way!  You will not?  But I, I—­If you—­”

At the same he threw up his hands and gave a dull, painful cry.

“He is dreaming of his brother’s murder,” rushed through Melissa’s mind, and in the same instant she laid her hand on his arm and with urgent entreaty cried in his ear:  “Wake up, Caesar, I implore you!  Great Caesar, awake!”

Then he opened his eyes, and a low, prolonged “Ah!” rang from his tortured breast.

He then, with a deep breath and perplexed glance, looked round him; and as his eyes fell on the young girl his features brightened, and soon wore a happy expression, as if he experienced a great joy.

“You?” he asked, with pleased surprise.  “You, maiden, still here!  It must be nearly dawn?  I slept well till just now.  But then at the last—­Oh, it was fearful!—­Adventus!”

Melissa, however, interrupted this cry, exhorting the emperor to be quiet by putting her finger to her lips; and he understood her and willingly obeyed, especially as she had guessed what he required from the chamberlain, Adventus.  She handed him the cloth that lay on the table for him to wipe his streaming forehead.  She then brought him drink, and after Caracalla had sat up refreshed, and felt that the pain, which, after a sharp attack, lasted sometimes for days, had now already left him, he said, quite gently, mindful of her sign: 

“How much better I feel already; and for this I thank you, Roxana; yes, you know.  I like to feel like Alexander, but usually—­It is certainly a pleasant thing to be ruler of the universe, for if we wish to punish or reward, no one can limit us.  You, child, shall learn that it is Caesar whom you have laid under such obligations.  Ask what you will, and I will grant it you.”

She whispered eagerly to him: 

“Release my father and brother.”

“Always the same thing,” answered Caracalla, peevishly.  “Do you know of nothing better to wish for?”