“But who would wish him harm?” she asked sorrowfully. “Have I not always said there might be danger in knowing a secret? Woe to him who knows a secret in that den of murderers! Gannon has learned one. This secret has been one that even prison walls could not keep quiet. Death was the only way to silence him,” groaned Alcmaeon. “O Alcmaeon! Woe is on our house!” cried Hera. “Ay, Hera. Gannon did not fall; he was thrown. Mark thou, Hera, ’twas a crime, a crime! O Zeus and ye other eternal gods, avenge this dastardly deed!” he called to heaven. “A curse is upon Greece and her people,” said Hera. “Ay, a curse is upon us, O Hera,” added Alcmaeon. “And how can a schoolmaster contend against such men? Ah, we must live silently. We must bow our heads without raising a revengeful hand. Oh! is this not worse than slavery?” he cried. “Ah, Alcmaeon! Oh that we might have had some word from him, some last word that we could forever remember!” she said, weeping. “No doubt the dear lad tried to send us word, but he could not.” Alcmaeon now approached the table. He drew away entirely the cloth that covered the dead body of his son. He looked lovingly into Gannon’s face. His eyes began to float in tears as the memories of his dear boy surged through his mind; he completely broke down and sobbed like a child. “Why should I have lived to see this day, O Hera?” he cried. “There has gone from my life a light that can never again shine upon my way. My hopes lie shattered there. O Zeus and ye eternal gods, send solace to a household burdened with so great a calamity!” he prayed. Recovering his self-command, the stricken father tenderly removed Gannon’s tunic, and handing it to Hera, procured a basin of water and bathed Gannon’s body. Hera took the tunic, which she shook and folded. While they were thus employed, Alcmaeon was startled by hearing his wife call: “Come quickly, O husband! Here, inside Gannon’s tunic, is some writing!” In an instant Alcmaeon was at his wife’s side, and read excitedly the words, “Have done wrong. Read a letter from L to S about Lygdus.” “Ah, said I not so, O wife?” he cried. “He learned a secret. Ah, the poor lad turned his thoughts to his family before he died. While we were singing hymns yester eve, he was in trouble. O my dear, dear son! Why did I ever take thee to the camp? O my son, my son!” “But what means the ‘L to S’?” asked Hera, when Alcmaeon had again become quiet. “I know not. The ‘S’ must mean Sejanus. But who is Lygdus?” “Is not Lygdus the eunuch that Gannon disliked, O husband?” asked Hera. “Ay, I remember,” said Alcmaeon, shaking his head. “But what means the ‘L’?” “Gannon has mentioned no name that begins with an ‘L’ except that of Livilla,” said Hera. “True, O Hera. ’Tis Livilla,” said Alcmaeon, as if convinced. “Ah, so Sejanus and Livilla are conspiring! But hold, wife! What is this that Gannon has done?” asked Alcmaeon, in a tone of fear. “What dost thou mean, O Alcmaeon?” cried Hera.