CHAPTER VI.

I KNOW not, my friends, how to proceed with the narrative of what followed. Thoughts, passions, fears, hopes, succeeding so rapidly, or rather interfused so intensely, give to that strange night, when I look back upon it through the long vista of threescore years, the likeness of some wild, incoherent, fantastic, agonizing dream. Much, without doubt, of what passed within my own mind I have forgotten; but it seems to me as if what I saw were still present in all the distinctiveness of reality before my eyes, as if my ears were yet

ringing with the echo of the least whisper that I heard. That chamber in the Mammertine-how impossible is it for me to forget the image of that deserted chamber! Its walls are at this moment before me blazing with the reflection of torch-light, and then again, as I saw them when a few minutes had elapsed, all dim and shadowy -the stars shining feebly upon them from the twilight sky-every thing around lonely and silent as a wilderness, except the voice of Silo's little maiden, which once and again sent to my half unconscious ear a faint and remote echo of innocent infantine lamentation. Whither she had gone to bewail the departure of Athanasia, I knew not; I heard the child singing in a low and melancholy strain; and I arose from the couch, for the calmness of grief had suddenly succeeded to its tumult, and slow softening tears at last bathed my cheeks, as I gazed forth upon the solemn heavens and the wide darkening plain.

“ You are calm, sir," said the jailor, who had come into the chamber, and stood behind me for a moment or two ere I observed him,-" you are calm, sir; I am happy to see that you are calm ;—the prison is now perfectly quiet; will you walk with me towards the Palatine, that we may at least be near to know what is reported of their proceedings? My brother will stay here, and take care of my girl till my return."

"Oh! yes, Silo," said I; "for, at lcast, I shall be better any where than here, and I would fain be in the open air,"

We soon had descended from the Capitoline, passed through the silent Forum, and gained the brow of the opposite eminence, where, as shortly before around the precincts of the Mammertine, all was light and tumult. Every court was guarded with mounted and dismounted soldiery, and groupes of busy men were passing continually, and repassing, about the different gates and porticos of the imperial edifice. We interchanged no words, but I followed

the guidance of Silo, who led me round and round the guarded buildings, apparently endeavouring to discover some traces by which he might conjecture in what part of them the examination of the prisoners was going on.

At last he fixed his eyes upon a certain point, where a more considerable detachment of the Prætorians were stationed, and in the neighbourhood of which there was altogether a greater appearance of light and bustle than elsewhere.

"Do you think they are there?" said I." Are you acquainted with the palace, Silo ?"

"Am I

He shook his head in answer. acquainted with the palace ?-Ah! sir, little do you know through what strange vicissitudes of fortune I have passed. You do not know more familiarly the house in which you were born and reared, than I do every corner-every dark corner within these wide walls. But I have not crossed the threshold since the day Cæsar died."

"Which Cæsar, Silo? Do you mean Nerva, or Domitian, or"—

"Domitian," he replied,

66 my master.

"I was the slave of Domitian, and he gave

me my freedom."

"And you were within the palace on that day, Silo?"

"Yes, sir; I was indeed within the palace. I would have given no little price to be without it. It is not for me to speak against the Prince that freed me. He was kind to his household."

"Then no man, Silo, is altogether wicked. There was some redeeming thing even about Domitian."

"Yes, sir; and when he first came to be over all, all hoped fairly of him. But oh, sir! it is a terrible thing to be tried with the temptation of power. I have often thought with myself, that it is like being given up by God into the hands of a cruel dæ mon, who, unless you make a glorious conquest, must have his own way in all things,