thou inspirest for these
bloody lists.'

The old man's head sank dejectedly on his breast. He remained silent
and absorbed, but every now and then with the corner of his sleeve he
wiped his eyes. His heart was with his son; he did not see the figure
that now approached from the gate with a quick step, and a somewhat
fierce and reckless gait and carriage. He did not lift his eyes till
the figure paused opposite the place where he sat, and with a soft voice
addressed him by the name of:

'Father!'

'My boy! my Lydon! is it indeed thou?' said the old man, joyfully. 'Ah,
thou wert present to my thoughts.'

'I am glad to hear it, my father,' said the gladiator, respectfully
touching the knees and beard of the slave; 'and soon may I be always
present with thee, not in thought only.'

'Yes, my son--but not in this world,' replied the slave, mournfully.

'Talk not thus, O my sire! look cheerfully, for I feel so--I am sure
that I shall win the day; and then, the gold I gain buys thy freedom.
Oh! my father, it was but a few days since that I was taunted, by one,
too, whom I would gladly have undeceived, for he is more generous than
the rest of his equals. He is not Roman--he is of Athens--by him I was
taunted with the lust of gain--when I demanded what sum was the prize of
victory. Alas! he little knew the soul of Lydon!'

'My boy! my boy!' said the old slave, as, slowly ascending the steps, he
conducted his son to his own little chamber, communicating with the
entrance hall (which in this villa was the peristyle, not the
atrium)--you may see it now; it is the third door to the right on
entering. (The first door conducts to the staircase; the second is but
a false recess, in which there stood a statue of bronze.) 'Generous,
affectionate, pious as are thy motives,' said Medon, when they were thus
secured from observation, 'thy deed itself is guilt: thou art to risk
thy blood for thy father's freedom--that might be forgiven; but the
prize of victory is the blood of another. Oh, that is a deadly sin; no
object can purify it. Forbear! forbear! rather would I be a slave for
ever than purchase liberty on such terms!'

'Hush, my father!' replied Lydon, somewhat impatiently; 'thou hast
picked up in this new creed of thine, of which I pray thee not to speak
to me, for the gods that gave me strength denied me wisdom, and I
understand not one word of what thou often preachest to me--thou hast
picked up, I say, in this new