"There is one, and it comes nightly. It is a Shade from Thanatos, which approacheth. I put the aegis into its dead hands, crown its death-dewed brow, do obeisance before a pale ghost that melts again into the Shades--and after it passes all Rome, and the Empire of the Caesars." The widow's eyes showed unutterable sadness, which was unrelieved by tears. The unanointed Caesars that had passed into the Shades had gathered unto their number no nobler one than the gallant young Germanicus, and the last remnant of the ancient glory of Rome had passed with him. But she put off the encroaching lapse into retrospection. "One of the departed cometh to ask that his offspring be thine heir," she suggested. The old emperor nodded eagerly. "It may be, it may be," he assented. "I have been pondering long upon the matter." A silence fell and the two gazed absently across the shimmering vision of Rome, below them, three leagues to the west. About them were spread the villas of the rich in retreat, the very essence of repose, the birdsong and the murmur of laurels in the breeze; in the distance was the apotheosis of power, but their thoughts overreached the things seen and questioned after things unknown. In their philosophy, life was all. After it was Shadow, an inevitable obliteration in which the just and the unjust were immersed eternally. But no youth, looking forward to the long, eventful days to come, experienced the grave wonder that these expended on the time after things were expected to end. The awe of the unexplored Hereafter--what a waste of universal, earth-old, intuitive awe, if there be no Hereafter! Tiberius muttered, as if to himself: "There is another--yet another dream. I cast dice with Three; three grisly hags, and I lose, though the tesserae were cogged. But let be, let be; the soothsayers shall read me that one!" He sat up. "Came you of a purpose to speak with me, Antonia?" he asked. "I did," she said, "but it seems that the time is not propitious." "Any hour is propitious for thee, Antonia." "Thou art a kind man, Caesar. I came to speak of Agrippa." "Agrippa!" the emperor exclaimed, a sudden transformation showing in his voice and manner. The woman in the litter behind stepped out, but paused without advancing. She made no attempt to conceal her attention to the talk between the widow and the emperor. Antonia studied the face of the old man; it was significant, when, after his lapse into the softened mood of retrospection, he should return to his old manner. She felt her way. "Agrippa ceases not to be interesting. Thou and I remember him as the faithfulest friend thy son Drusus had; to this day of all who knew Drusus it is only Agrippa who still hath tears for his name." The emperor's wrinkled mouth was set, his face absolutely without telling expression.