_The Call Boy returns with a man in a hideous Etruscan mask, carrying a whip. They both rush down the passage into the arena._ LAVINIA. (_rising_) Oh, that is unworthy. Can they not kill him without dishonoring him? ANDROCLES. (_scrambling to his feet and running into the middle of the space between the staircases_) It’s dreadful. Now I want to fight. I can’t bear the sight of a whip. The only time I ever hit a man was when he lashed an old horse with a whip. It was terrible: I danced on his face when he was on the ground. He mustn’t strike Ferrovius: I’ll go into the arena and kill him first. (_He makes a wild dash into the passage. As he does so a great clamor is heard from the arena, ending in wild applause. The gladiators listen and look inquiringly at one another_). THE EDITOR. What’s up now? LAVINIA. (_to the Captain_) What has happened, do you think? THE CAPTAIN. What CAN happen? They are killing them, I suppose. ANDROCLES. (_running in through the passage, screaming with horror and hiding his eyes_)!!! LAVINIA. Androcles, Androcles: what’s the matter? ANDROCLES. Oh, don’t ask me, don’t ask me. Something too dreadful. Oh! (_He crouches by her and hides his face in her robe, sobbing_). THE CALL BOY. (_rushing through from the passage as before_) Ropes and hooks there! Ropes and hooks. THE EDITOR. Well, need you excite yourself about it? (_Another burst of applause_). _Two slaves in Etruscan masks, with ropes and drag hooks, hurry in._ ONE OF THE SLAVES. How many dead? THE CALL BOY. Six. (_The slave blows a whistle twice; and four more masked slaves rush through into the arena with the same apparatus_) And the basket. Bring the baskets. (_The slave whistles three times, and runs through the passage with his companion_). THE CAPTAIN. Who are the baskets for? THE CALL BOY. For the whip. He’s in pieces. They’re all in pieces, more or less. (_Lavinia hides her face_). (_Two more masked slaves come in with a basket and follow the others into the arena, as the Call Boy turns to the gladiators and exclaims, exhausted_) Boys, he’s killed the lot. THE EMPEROR. (_again bursting from his box, this time in an ecstasy of delight_) Where is he? Magnificent! He shall have a laurel crown. _Ferrovius, madly waving his bloodstained sword, rushes through the passage in despair, followed by his co-religionists, and by the menagerie keeper, who goes to the gladiators. The gladiators draw their swords nervously._ FERROVIUS. Lost! lost forever! I have betrayed my Master. Cut off this right hand: it has offended. Ye have swords, my brethren: strike. LAVINIA. No, no. What have you done, Ferrovius? FERROVIUS. I know not; but there was blood behind my eyes; and there’s blood on my sword. What does that mean?