“Did you notice Berenice’s look when you bestowed the prize of beauty upon Vashti?” “No; how did she look?” asked Crispus absently. “She looked--she looked,” said Rufus reflectively, as if casting about in his mind for some image to express his thoughts, “she looked the picture of sorrow. She looked--well, don’t laugh if I use this comparison--she looked as a wife who loves her husband might look when she sees him fascinated by another woman.” Crispus started, stared strangely at Rufus, then walked away. “Now what have I said to offend him?” muttered the wondering Rufus. CHAPTER IV THE DREAM OF CRISPUS Tempted by the beauty of the starry night, as well as by the wish to be alone with his thoughts, Crispus passed from the banqueting hall, and sought the spacious gardens attached to the Prætorium, gardens that with their variegated parterres and smooth lawns, marble fountains and shady walks, differed little, if at all, from the aspect presented by a modern pleasaunce. There is nothing new under the sun! Even the practice of forcing shrubbery to assume artificial shapes was not unknown to the ancients, and the boscage of these gardens presented at different points a variety of figures, graceful and grotesque. Now, as Crispus walked meditatively along a quiet path he caught sight of a distant and solitary figure standing by a marble seat that gleamed white against a background of dark cypresses. Her face was turned from him, but there was something familiar in her form; the stature and shape suggested Berenice, and as he drew nearer he became certain of it. At the sound of his footsteps the figure turned, and dimly, beneath the gloom cast by the cypress leaves, he saw the face of Berenice--Berenice, yet with golden hair! He stopped short in surprise. Then in a moment the likeness that he had seen, or thought he had seen, vanished, leaving in its place--Vashti! He looked, but the resemblance was no more. A mere fancy wrought by his imagination and the dim light. Vashti greeted him with a shy smile, and a blush due to the memory of the kiss that he had bestowed upon her. She was awaiting, it seemed, the return of Josephus. He had left her there for a moment while he ran off to speak a word with Ananias, whom he had beheld in the distance. Crispus looked round, but could see neither Ananias nor Josephus; in fact could see no one save the beautiful maiden beside him. “I’ll act as your guardian till his return,” smiled he, as he seated himself and invited Vashti to do the like. It was a beautiful night, with nothing to disturb its stillness save the far-off sounds of music and revelry coming from the Prætorium. Their position, on ground slightly elevated, gave them a full view of the sea, a purple mirror reflecting in broken sparkles the light of a thousand stars.