The entrance of one of the household domestics, bringing a physician, roused the young man from the first stupor of his shocked feelings. He rose to his feet and assumed a stoical calmness. ‘I am a physician,’ said the new‐comer, breathing somewhat heavily, by reason of the pace at which the slave had hurried him thither. Martialis made a gesture toward the dead man and sank his chin on his breast. It needed no more than a moment for the practised eye of the mediciner to see that life had been suddenly and utterly snatched away. ‘I can do nothing,’ said he, letting the hand of Apicius fall. ‘Out of which cup did he drink?’ Following a slight motion of the young man’s head, he went and picked up the jewelled goblet, which remained on its side, near the edge of the table, where Apicius had thrown it. He put his nose to it and sniffed the dregs. There was no odour but that of wine, yet the man of science shrugged his shoulders significantly. ‘There still remains in the cup enough for the death of two or three, most noble sir,’ said he. ‘I might do worse than try to prove your words,’ remarked Martialis bitterly. ‘The gods forbid! Aesculapius himself could not save you if you did!’ ‘To whom and to what place am I to send if I should want you again?’ ‘I should be ever grateful for your notice, noble Martialis. I am Charicles, and may be found without difficulty in the Vicus Tuscus.’ Martialis nodded, and Charicles, with much humility and expression of sympathy, withdrew. ‘’Twas for himself then,’ he muttered, as he passed quickly through the deserted hall. ‘O precious drug, swift and sure as light, when did you ever fail or disgrace me!’ The eye of Martialis fell on the casket which Apicius had bequeathed him. He stood regarding it for a few moments, and then turned to a slave who remained, and said, with renewed vigour of faculties, ‘Let the kinsfolk of Apicius be brought hither at once, if not already sent for—Plautia, his sister, Sabellus, his uncle; and go you, yourself, bring with you back, in all haste, Festus the lawyer, from nigh the forum of Caesar—haste!’ The slave disappeared and left him once more alone. He stood and gazed on the face of the dead, and his grief broke beyond his control. Half‐ smothered sobs broke from his lips, and his eyes were blind with hot pouring tears. ‘Oh Apicius,’ he groaned, ‘if thou wert weary of the world, hadst thou so little regard for our love and companionship? This is thy retreat from men so easily found! Easy indeed—thou didst not err. All may reach it when they list, gods be praised! For in whose ear can I whisper, as I whispered in thine, all that oppressed me? Gone—gone, Apicius! Thou hast forsaken thy friend—selfish—selfish! Did you deem the void would be filled by another of your blood? Oh, miserable thought!’