His fine physique could not now prevent him from falling a prey to the terrors of his excited imagination. The keen eye that could judge distances with nice exactness in the Circus Maximus could now see no path before him. The hands that could draw the reins and check the impetuous plunge of his horses were stronger than his will was to check the rushing of his thoughts. His courage, that used to ring in his voice and inspire the horses to make a supreme effort to gain the finish line, melted now before the heat of his convictions. His adamantine nature had finally been pierced. He suffered under the writhings of a tormented soul. Resting against the rostra before the Temple of Julius Caesar, he dropped his face into his hands and breathed a pathetic “Oh-h-h” that came from the profound depths of his soul. He heard near by the footsteps of some one who groaned at every step. He saw indistinctly in the darkness the small figure of a lad. “Ho, boy!” called Gyges. The lad stopped and asked, “Who calls?” “’Tis one who pities thee. Why moanest thou?” “O Master Gyges, flee! flee!” whispered the boy, excitedly. “Ah! ’Tis thou, Aldo. What ails thee?” “The soldiers are looking for thee.” “For me? And why?” “They have an order for thy arrest.” “An order for my arrest? How didst thou leave the stables? Does not thy back pain thee?” “Ay, my master; but I wished to warn thee.” “Didst thou go to my rooms?” “Ay; the soldiers are there.” “Whither hast thou been?” “At thy new house. But hasten, O master!” “Do the soldiers know of my new home?” asked Gyges, quickly. “Nay, master; they know nothing.” “Then come with me. Speak no more until I command thee.” With the strong arm of Gyges supporting that of the stable-boy, they went along the Via Sacra and around the Palatine Hill towards the Porta Capena. It was the same walk that Psyche and Gyges had taken a few hours before. The shutters that closed the shops on the Via Sacra appeared to Gyges like coverings of tombs. The sparkling merchandise that had evoked such pleasure in Psyche seemed to him now as black as the abyss that separated the two lovers. By the side of his master, Aldo bravely suppressed all sighs and groans. He was a bright, sprightly, slender lad of fifteen, with short light hair, clear blue eyes, and small mouth. He spoke quickly, with a sharp ringing voice. He was descended from Greeks who had been slaves. Gyges had bought him, and had taught him how to care for horses. The little slave was devoted to his master because Gyges had promised him freedom. Both master and slave now walked silently along. The mist had turned to rain. Arriving before his new home, Gyges rapped sharply upon the door. At first no one answered. He rapped longer and harder. Finally a voice from within asked, “Who wishes to enter?” “Open, Nana. ’Tis I!” “What is thy name?” she demanded. “Knowest thou not my voice?” asked Gyges. “Verily, ’tis thou, O Gyges,” exclaimed Nana, as she opened the door.