Possibly too there might be another solution of the difficulty.--Clodianus was thinking of Stephanus. By the time the sickle of the waning moon rose ruddy above the horizon, the Propraetor’s son and his eager troops had already left half the road between Alsium and the capital behind them. Aurelius, accompanied by the faithful Herodianus and the Goth, rode by the young leader's side, marking with happy anticipation the growing distinctness of a black cloud on the southern horizon--that dark silhouette was Rome. Now, as the moon rose, Aurelius fancied he could recognize the buildings on the Janiculum, and distinguish to the left the temple on the loftier Quirinal. Between these points--which he saw more in fancy than in fact--dwelt his Claudia--adored and beautiful, “the only She.” What must she not have suffered during these last months! Ah, and even now be suffering! This very day probably the brother, that she so devotedly loved, had fallen a victim to Caesar’s hideous mania for persecution. Clodianus had indeed promised to do everything, even the impossible, only to postpone the frightful climax; but who could tell! Aurelius set spurs into his horse, as if he could not bear a moment's delay till he dashed through the streets of Rome, tore open the prison doors, and clasped his rescued friend in his arms. How could he face Claudia, if he came too late to save her brother? Why had the execution of the conspiracy been so long postponed? The reasons, it is true, had been irresistible--even Cinna had confessed that; but an aching, longing heart ignores every motive of strategy and of state-craft, and the days, which had been allowed to slip by in inactivity, had seemed a dreary eternity. Well, the immediate future would put an end at any rate to suspense, and surely the gods could not so cruelly betray his fervid hopes. If he should succeed, if fate had such mercy in store--what joy for him of all men to break the chains, what a triumph over the stern and inexorable father, who to uphold the law could not spare his own son! Aurelius was half-ashamed to find himself thinking so exclusively of his own future, when the next few hours must decide the fate of millions--nay, of the Empire. But of what avail were strength of resolve and effort of will? His thoughts would revert to the scene he so fondly pictured in his dream, when he should clasp his Claudia in his arms, and stand proudly before the high-priest with the words: “_I_ restore you your son.” The road was lonely, the step of the marching men sounded loud in the silence. The few passengers and vehicles that they met were allowed to pass on; but all who were going towards Rome were, willy-nilly, detained, and only allowed to proceed in the midst of the cohorts.