Why the Emperor Tiberius left Rome and secluded himself, for the remainder of his life, in this small island, away from the seat of his empire, has never, with certainty, been explained. Whether it was for political reasons, or for the purpose of giving full indulgence to those vicious habits which rumour so freely ascribed to him, is not within the scope of these pages to be determined. He hastened to continue to his new home those same marks of favour which his deified predecessor had begun. Armies of workmen assailed the summits of the cone‐like hills and wave‐washed cliffs. New villa‐palaces arose on every hand, so that the narrow limits of the island hermitage might afford to Caesar the utmost variety possible. Of the twelve projected villas, each named after a deity, some three or four had been completed and occupied at the time of our story, whilst the building of the remainder was actively proceeding. In the autumn of the year thirty, the date of our story, Tiberius had hidden himself away from his people for about three years, and, already, dark rumours were flitting abroad of strange enormities and dread cruelties shrouded in that outline of mountain amid the sea. The seclusion of the imperial hermit was strictly preserved, and unauthorised feet were jealously warned from his rocky retreat. Curiosity became more inflamed and imagination more rampant. To turn the invisible Caesar into something akin to an ogre or monster was an easy and natural outcome of the insular mystery. One thing, however, is certain, that, although lost, as the Emperor may be said to have been, to the eyes of the world, the world and its affairs, in turn, were never hidden from him. Caesar remained Caesar—sleepless, prompt and vigorous amid his mysterious rocks. Day after day, couriers came and went with tidings from every corner of the known world. The vast empire, like a sprawling giant, had Capreae for its heart, which impelled the life‐blood ceaselessly to every extremity of its veins and arteries. * * * * * * * On an October morning, one of the long, swift boats, used in the imperial despatch service, left the landing‐place in the little Marina, on the north side of Capreae, and shot away toward the barren promontory of Minerva opposite. The vessel was one of a number used for the busy service of communication with the mainland, and was built on fine, sharp lines to attain high speed. Plenty of power was lent by the brawny arms of a dozen stout slaves, whose oars swept the craft along, with the gently rippling sea foaming under its sharp bows. The morning was bright, and a delicious autumn serenity softened mountain and sea with a mellow haze; so that in default of a breeze to fill the large sail stowed neatly away under the bulwarks, the rowers bent their backs with a will to their work.