thynian can wake
out of his slumbers it would seem, and while Caesar was anxiously
watching the burning bundles of flax which the wind kept blowing across
to the harbor the rash boy rushed into the burning building, flung the
tablet down from the top of the tower and then hurried down the stairs.
His bold action would indeed have cost the poor fellow his life if the
slave Mastor; who meanwhile had hurried to the spot, had not dragged him
down the stone stair of the old tower on which the new one stood and
carried him into the open air. He was half suffocated at the top of them
and had dropped down senseless."

"But he is alive, the splendid boy, the image of the gods! and he is out
of danger?" cried Balbilla, with much anxiety.

"He is quite well; only his hands, as I said, are somewhat burnt, and his
hair is singed, but that will grow again."

"His soft, lovely curls!" cried Balbilla. "Let us go home, Claudia. The
gardener shall cut a magnificent bunch of roses, and we will send it to
Antinous to please him."

"Flowers to a man who does not care about them?" asked Pontius, gravely.

"With what else can women reward men's virtues or do honor to their
beauty?" asked Balbilla.

"Our own conscience is the reward of our honest actions, or the laurel
wreath from the hand of some famous man."

"And beauty?"

"That of women claims and wins admiration, love too perhaps and
flowers-that of men may rejoice the eye, but to do it Honor is a task
granted to no mortal woman."

"To whom, then, if I may ask the question?"

"To Art, which makes it immortal."

"But the roses may bring some comfort and pleasure to the suffering
youth."

"Then send them-but to the sick boy, and not to the handsome man,"
retorted Pontius.

Balbilla was silent, and she and her companion followed the architect to
the harbor. There he parted from them, putting them into a boat which
took them back to the Caesareum through one of the arch-gates under the
Heptastadium.

As they were rowed along the younger Roman lady said to the elder:

"Pontius has quite spoilt my fun about the roses. The sick boy is the
handsome Antinous all the same, and if anybody could think--well, I shall
do just as I please; still it will be best not to cut the nosegay."

CHAPTER XV.

The town was out of danger; the fire was extinct. Pontius had taken no
rest till noonday. Three horses had he tired out and replaced by fresh
ones, but his sinewy frame and healt