“The gloom that enshrouded me when we left Rome and Brundusium still hovers over me,” replied Sabinus, gazing at the beautiful purple mountains that form the shore line of the historic island. “But the day is bright and we are near Athens. Throw off thy dreary oppression.” “Ay, I fear that thy trip with me will be one that thou wilt never wish to repeat.” “Thou dost not fear that thy father’s persecutors will follow thee?” “Nay; but no Roman of a distinguished family can be safe in these days of terror.” “Thy father is not yet dead. Perhaps there may be hope,” she said in a tone of sympathy. “Ah! there is no hope,” he gloomily responded. “But hast thou not many friends?” she asked. “One by one they have left me,” was his sad reply. “Even Sulpicius?” “Ay, even he.” “But why, O my Sabinus?” “Since Sosius, my father’s confidant and friend, voluntarily killed himself so as to escape the horrible insult of an unjust sentence, and since Sosia has been exiled, my friends have become suspicious of me. I, who have done nothing but revel in pleasures, am looked upon as one who would try to conspire.” “Thou didst conspire and won me,” said Merope, forcing an air of gaiety. “Ay,” said Sabinus, laying his hand upon hers. “But since the death of Sosius, my honored father has been incessantly followed by soldiers in disguise. He dared not leave Rome. Didst thou ever see,” he suddenly asked her, “Claudia Pulchra?” “Ay, my Sabinus; she is one of the most beautiful women in the city.” “She has been strangled.” “For what crime?” “Friendship for Agrippina. They were cousins. A purer woman never lived in Rome. But she was accused of adultery with an obscure poet, and both are now dead. Even Calpurnius Piso destroyed himself because of the attacks made upon him by the emperor.” “Truly, the life of a dancing-girl is safer than that of people in higher station.” “Ay, thou art right, my Merope.” “Tell me again why thou art leaving Rome,” said Merope, as she watched a sea-gull floating in the air above the bireme. “When the blow struck the family of Sosius, my father was charged with treason. But sufficient proofs against him were wanting. Mark thou, Merope, what plans Sejanus then formed. Latiaris, who was always considered a stanch friend of our family, was chosen as the instrument to deal the final blow. He sent to my father an invitation to a dinner, which was gladly accepted. At the dinner were only Latiaris and my father; but friends of Sejanus were hidden in a room adjoining. The door that led to that room was carefully covered by a curtain.” “Ah! ’twas a trap,” said Merope.