full half an hour without receiving a reply.

"Look, stranger! All those fields which your eye can see belong to
Sonnica. See, Greek, how many chickens! Nearly all the eggs used in the
city come from here."

Actaeon continued oblivious to the objects pointed out by the
shepherdess; but just as she rang the bell on the garden gate, and was
answered from within by the barking of dogs and the sharp cries of
hidden birds, he smote himself nervously on the forehead as if he had
made a discovery.

"Now I know who he is!" he exclaimed, as if awaking from a dream.

"Who?" asked the young girl in surprise.

"Nobody," he replied with the frigidity of him who fears that he has
said too much.

In his own mind, however, he was satisfied with the identification.
Recalling the words of the Libyan mercenary, overheard in the tavern,
had brought back to his memory that enigmatic figure of the Celtiberian
shepherd. Suddenly a light was kindled in his thought.

Now he knew who it was! For a good reason had he been impressed from the
first moment by the glance of that unknown man, by the eyes which never
change in a countenance despite the passing of years. Often had he seen
those eyes in his childhood when his father made war in Sicily with
Hamilcar, and he himself was being educated in Carthage.

That shepherd was Hannibal!

CHAPTER III

DANCING GIRLS FROM GADES

Sonnica awoke two hours after midday. The oblique rays of the sun
filtered through the gilded bars of her window over which crept the
foliage of grapevines. Its light heightened the color of the stucco
frames around scenes from the Olympian games painted on the wall, and of
the columns of rose-colored marble which flanked the doorway.

The beautiful Greek threw to the floor the covers of white Saetabis
linen, and her first glance swept her figure, taking in the outlines of
her body with affectionate eyes, from her swelling bosom curving in
harmonious lines, to the tips of her rosy feet.

Her heavy hair perfumed and falling in silky curls, hung down over her
body, enveloping her as in a regal mantle, caressing her from throat to
knees with a gentle kiss. The old-time courtesan, as she awoke, admired
her body with the adoration inspired in her by the eulogies of the
artists of Athens.

She was still young and beautiful; she could still thrill men with
emotion when, at the end of a banquet, she displayed herself upon the
table nude as Phryne. Her hands e