ep for several hours. Finally he awoke. He was lying on a soft
mattress. A warm blanket covered him. Clean air filled his nostrils. The
gentle light of dawn lay upon his eyes. A strange face bent over him.

"It is only weariness," a kind voice was saying. "He needs food and rest
more than medicine."

Then Ariston saw Tetreius, also, bending over him. The slave leaped to
his feet. He was ashamed to be caught asleep in his master's presence.
He feared a frown for his laziness.

"My picture is finished, master," he cried, still half asleep.

"And so is your slavery," said Tetreius, and his eyes shone.

"It was not a slave who carried my son out of hell on his back. It was a
hero." He turned around and called, "Come hither, my friends."

Three Roman gentlemen stepped up. They looked kindly upon Ariston.

"This is the lad who saved my son," said Tetreius. "I call you to
witness that he is no longer a slave. Ariston, I send you from my hand a
free man."

He struck his hand lightly on the Greek's shoulder, as all Roman masters
did when they freed a slave. Ariston cried aloud with joy. He sank to
his knees weeping. But Tetreius went on.

"This kind physician says that Caius will live. But he needs good air
and good nursing. He must go to some one of Aesculapius' holy places. He
shall sleep in the temple and sit in the shady porches, and walk in the
sacred groves. The wise priests will give him medicines. The god will
send healing dreams. Do you know of any such place, Ariston?"

The Greek thought of the temple and garden of Aesculapius on the sunny
side of the Acropolis at home in Athens. But he could not speak. He
gazed hungrily into Tetreius' eyes. The Roman smiled.

"Ariston, this ship is bound for Athens! All my life I have loved
her--her statues, her poems, her great deeds. I have wished that my son
might learn from her wise men. The volcano has buried my home, Ariston.
But my wealth and my friends and my son are aboard this ship. What do
you say, my friend? Will you be our guide in Athens?" Ariston leaped up
from his knees. A fire of joy burned in his eyes. He stretched his hands
to the sky.

"O blessed Herakles," he cried, "again thou hast conquered Death. Thou
didst snatch us from the grave of Pompeii. Give health to this Roman
boy. O fairest Athena, shed new beauty upon our violet crowned Athens.
For there is coming to visit her the best of men, my master Tetreius."

[Illustration: _A Marble Table_: The