ast promise of the
Prefect was little more than an empty word of comfort to palliate his
departure. Overcome by sorrow, she rested her cheek upon her beautiful
hand, and was lost for some time in futile meditations.

Suddenly the curtain at the entrance rustled. An officer of the palace
stood before her.

"Ambassadors from Byzantium desire an audience. Justinus is dead. His
nephew Justinianus is Emperor. He tenders a brotherly greeting and his
friendship."

"Justinianus!" This name penetrated the very soul of the unhappy
woman. She saw herself robbed of her son, thwarted by her people,
forsaken by Cethegus. In her sad musings she had been seeking in vain
for help and support, and, with a sigh of relief, she again repeated,
"Justinianus--Byzantium!"

CHAPTER IV.

In the woods of Fiesole, a modern wanderer coming from Florence will
find to the right of the high-road the ruins of an extensive villa-like
edifice. Ivy, saxifrage and wild roses vie with each other in
concealing the ruins. For centuries the peasants in the neighbouring
villages have carried away stones from this place in order to dam up
the earth of their vineyards on the slopes of the hills. But even yet
the remains clearly show where once stood the colonnade before the
house, where the central hall, and where the wall of the court.

Weeds grow luxuriantly in the meadows where once lay in shining order
the beautiful gardens; nothing has been left of them except the wide
marble basin of a long dried-up fountain, in whose pebble-filled
runnels the lizards now sun themselves.

But in the days of our story the place looked very different. "The
Villa of Maecenas at Faesulae," as the building, probably with little or
no reason, was called at that time, was inhabited by happy people; the
house ordered by a woman's careful hand; the garden enlivened by
childhood's bright laughter.

The climbing clematis was gracefully trained up the slender shafts of
the Corinthian columns in front of the house, and the cheerful vine
shaded the flat roof. The winding walks in the garden were strewed with
white sand, and in the outhouses dedicated to domestic uses reigned an
order and cleanliness which was never to be found in a household served
by Roman slaves alone.

It was sunset.

The men and maid servants were returning from the fields. The
heavily-laden hay-carts swung along, drawn by horses which were
evidently not of Italian bree