The colossal masses and spheres which darted down upon him shot away again into tiny twinkling specks—so far away, into such immensity of space, that his soul shuddered with a frightful sensation at the awful gulf yawning before him. Back they came—swelling as they rushed, in the brief second of their career, like Titanic globes upon his paralysed vision. One of them took the semblance of a face, distorted and ghastly. Down it swooped in stupendous bulk, so close that his brain seemed to burst with its appalling proximity. His delirious senses saw in it a livid, grinning caricature of Caesar’s ghastly visage—he thrust out his arms at it and shrieked in terror—tottered and fell senseless to the ground. * * * * * * * When he recovered consciousness he found himself lying on the ground where he had fallen. A circle of faces surrounded him, and Zeno was kneeling beside him with a cup in his hand. ‘Ah, now he is coming to,’ said the Greek, as the potter gave a deep sigh and slightly opened his eyes. ‘Back, back—further back!’ The idle, gazing menials gave way, and Zeno held the cup to Masthlion’s lips. A few mouthfuls restored the potter, and he looked around. His faculties cleared, and he shuddered as his memory brought back those dread visions of his overstrained brain. ‘This comes of fasting and watching, Surrentine,’ quoth Zeno, offering him the cup again; ‘Nature is spiteful when robbed of her due.’ ‘I must have fainted,’ muttered Masthlion feebly. ‘Ay, with a yell which was enough to curdle the heart of a dead man!’ ‘I shall soon be all right, but I must confess to a certain weakness and dizziness.’ ‘Come, these fellows shall help you to your bed.’ But Masthlion, refusing the offer, walked away unassisted, though somewhat falteringly, inside the palace to his pallet, whereon he stretched himself gladly, for he was not a little shaken and confused. Zeno flung a cloak over him, and set some drink near him. Masthlion thanked him for his kindness. ‘I was bidden to take care of thee, and I dare not disobey—that is all,’ answered the other, with a grin. ‘But listen, potter, I may tell thee this much, and it is as much as I know so far, that thou art to go away before nightfall—how and in what way I know not.’ ‘The gods bless you for the words,’ cried Masthlion, whose face lighted with unspeakable joy. Zeno shrugged his shoulders, and hastened away. The joyful intelligence appeared to pour a calm, soothing influence on the suffering man’s spirit, and, in weariness and weakness of mind and body, he fell into a profound slumber. He seemed to have slept only a few minutes when he was aroused by a hand touching him on the shoulder. He looked up and saw Zeno once more beside him. The daylight had failed, and the little room was nearly dark. ‘How do you feel?’ asked the steward. ‘Better—I have slept.’