Far around lay the streets and barracks of his great camp, swarming with thousands, and, in the midst, this dark‐thoughted, plotting mind was silently hewing its path toward the goal of its hopes. On the table lay a long sheet of paper, and on the paper a list of names was being laboriously compiled. His brows were closely knit, and he paced the apartment incessantly. As his reflections became matured he sat down to write, and then, springing up again, he resumed the monotony of his walk. Thus, at slow intervals, name after name was added to the list on the paper; and, every now and then, he would stop at the end of his walk, and peer through a chink of the curtain across the entrance to the ante‐ chamber, where a Pretorian was on guard, in full panoply of helmet, cuirass, and buckler. There was that in the person and manner of the Prefect which had succeeded, at least to all outward appearance, in winning over such a profound, suspicious mind even as that of Tiberius, his master. Nature had endowed him with a very formidable combination of qualities to be fired with a burning ambition. With a handsome and imposing exterior, energy of mind, activity of body, a plausible tongue, and insinuating manners, this man was dangerous enough. But when the cold subtlety of his brain and the devouring fire of his heart were unhampered by scruple or remorse he became terrible. No tiger more murderous when stealth and craft had failed; for he hesitated not to strike at the life of the man in his path through the honour of the wife. He could glide to the crime of murder through the guilty excitement and pleasure of female conquest and debauchery, and there he bottomed the depths of infamy and horror. For what dread purpose was the steady lengthening of the list on the table? What dark scheme was developing behind that white forehead? The voice of the sentinel in the outer room broke upon his meditations, and he hastily slipped to the table and thrust the paper into a drawer. He had scarcely done so, when a voice in the ante‐chamber called the name ‘Titus Afer!’ ‘Enter, Afer!’ replied Sejanus. ‘I thought of you as breathing the pure air of Tibur.’ The knight accordingly entered the room. A large travelling‐cloak enveloped his form, and a Phrygian cap covered his head. ‘I am now on my way,’ he answered; ‘yesterday I was lazy, and remained at home. In the Baths of Faustus yesterday was Sabinus.’ ‘Ah!’ said the Prefect. ‘He grows no wiser, but indeed more rash and calumnious respecting you. I think it would be prudent to watch such a reckless fool; for even his spite and virulence might do mischief amongst some people. He loudly condemns you as being the bloodhound of the Germanici, and indeed is equally bold and noisy in accusing you of usurping the place of Caesar, and of misapplying your authority to your own ends. Such speeches have been heard before, but there are those whose ears are only too ready and willing to suck in such ravings.’