The Emperor. Volume 03

The lad moistened Selene's forehead with the reviving fluid, made her inhale the strong essence which the phial contained, and cried again loud and earnestly, "Wake, wake."—And presently her lips parted, showing her small, white teeth, and then she slowly raised the lids which had veiled her eyes. With a deep sigh of relief he set the cup and the phial on the ground so as to support her when she slowly began to raise herself; but, scarcely had he turned his face towards her, when she sprang up suddenly and violently, and flinging both her arms round his neck, cried out:

"Save me, Pollux, save me! The monster is devouring me." Antinous much startled, seized the girl's arms to release himself from their embrace, but, she had already freed him and sunk back on to the ground. The next moment she was shivering violently as if from an attack of fever; again she threw up her hands, pressed them to her temples, and gazed with terror and bewilderment into the face that bent above her.

"What is it? Who are you?" she asked, in a low voice.

He rose quickly, and while he supported her as she attempted to rise and stand upon her feet, he said:

"The gods be praised that you are still alive. Our big hound threw you down-and he has terrible teeth." Selene was now standing up, and face to face with the boy at whose last words she shuddered again.

"Do, you feel any pain?" asked Antinous, anxiously.

"Yes," she said, dully.

"Did he bite you?"

"I think not—pick up that pin, it has fallen out of my dress."

The Bithynian obeyed her behest, and while the girl re-fastened her peplum over her shoulders she asked him again:

"Who are you? How came the dog in our palace?"

"He belongs—he belongs to us. We arrived late last night, and Pontius put us—"

"Then you are with the architect from Rome?"

"Yes, but who are you?"

"Selene is my name, I am the daughter of the palace-steward."

"And who is Pollux, whom you were calling to help you when you recovered your senses?"

"What does that matter to you?"

Antinous colored, and answered in confusion:

"I was startled when you suddenly roused up, with his name so loudly on your lips, when I brought you back to life with water and this essence."

"Well, I was roused—and now I can walk again. People who bring furious dogs into a strange place, should know how to take better care of them. Tie the dog up safely, for the children—my little brothers and sisters— come this way when they want to go out. Thank you for your help—and my pitcher?"

As she spoke she looked down on the remains of the pretty jar, which was one her mother had particularly valued. When she saw the fragments lying on the ground, she gave a deep sob, but she shed no tears. Then she exclaimed angrily: "It is infamous!"

With these words she turned her back on Antinous and returned to her father's room, using her left foot, however, with caution, for it was very painful.

The young Bithynian gazed in silence at Selene's tall, slight form, he felt prompted to follow her, to say to her how very sorry he was for the mischance that had befallen her, and that the hound belonged not to him but to another man; but he dared not. Long after she had disappeared from sight he stood on the same spot. At last he collected his senses, and slowly went back to his room, where he sat on his couch with his eyes fixed dreamily on the ground, till the Emperor's call roused him from his reverie.

Selene had hardly vouchsafed Antinous a glance. She was in pain not merely in her left foot, but also in the back of her head where she found there was a deep cut; but her thick hair had staunched the blood that flowed from the wound. She felt very tired, and the loss of her pretty jug, which must also be replaced by another, vexed her far more than the beauty of the favorite had charmed her.

She slowly and wearily entered the sitting-room, where her father was by this time waiting for her and his water. He was accustomed to have it regularly at the same hour, and as Selene was absent longer than usual, he could think of no better way of filling up the time than by grumbling and scolding to himself; when, at last, his daughter appeared on the threshold, he at once perceived that she had no jug, and said crossly:

"And am I to have no water to-day?"

Selene shook her head, sank into a seat, and began to cry softly.

"What is the matter?" asked her father.

"The pitcher is broken," she said sadly.

You should take better care of such expensive things," scolded her father. "You are always complaining of want of money, and at the same time you break half our belongings."

"I was thrown down," answered Selene, drying her eyes.

"Thrown down! by whom?" asked the steward, slowly rising.

"By the architect's big dog—the architect who came last night from Rome, and to whom we gave that meat and salt in the middle of the night. He slept here, at Lochias."

"And he set his clog on my child!" shouted Keraunus, with an angry glare.

"The hound was alone in the passage when I went there."

"Did it bite you?"

"No, but it pulled me down, and stood over me, and gnashed its teeth—oh! it was horrible."

"The cursed, vagabond scoundrel!" growled the steward, "I will teach him how to behave in a strange house!"

"Let him be," said Selene, as she saw her father about to don the saffron cloak.

"What is done cannot be undone, and if quarrels and dissentions come of it, it will make you ill."

"Vagabonds! impudent rascals! who fill my palace with quarrelsome curs," muttered Keraunus without listening to his daughter, and as he settled the folds of his pallium he growled "Arsinoe! why is it that girl never hears me."

When she appeared he desired her to heat the irons to curl his hair.

"They are ready by the fire," answered Arsinoe. "Come into the kitchen with me."

Keraunus followed her, and had his locks curled and scented, while his younger children stood round him waiting for the porridge which Selene usually prepared for them at this hour.

Keraunus responded to their morning greetings with nods as friendly as Arsinoe's tongs, which held his head tightly by the hair, would allow. It was only the blind Helios, a pretty boy of six, that he drew to his side and gave a kiss on his cheek. He loved this child, who, though deprived of the noblest of the senses, was always merry and contented, with peculiar tenderness. Once he even laughed aloud when the child clung to his sister, as she brandished the tongs, and said:

"Father, do you know why I am sorry I cannot see?"

"Well?" said his father.

"Because I should so like to see you for once with the beautiful curls which Arsinoe makes with the irons." But the steward's mirth was checked when his daughter, pausing in her labors, said half in jest, but half in earnest:

"Have you thought any more about the Emperor's arrival, father? I smarten and dress you so fine every day—but to-day you ought to think of dressing me."

"We will see about it," said Keraunus evasively. "Do you know," said Arsinoe, after a short pause, as she twisted the last lock in the freshly-heated tongs, "I thought it all over last night again. If we cannot succeed any way in scraping together the money for my dress, we can still—"