She was drawing a stick of asparagus between her teeth, but she hastily dropped it on her plate, and with both hands snatched the cup from her brother, exclaiming: "It is the fourth; and if I allow you to empty it, you are a dead man!" "Death is not so swift," replied Polybius, signing to a slave to bring him back the cup.

But he drank only half of it, and, at his sister's pathetic entreaties, had more water mixed with the wine.

And while Praxilla carefully prepared his crayfish--for gout had crippled even his fingers--he beckoned to his white-haired body-slave, and with a cunning smile made him add more wine to the washy fluid.

He fixed his twinkling glance on Melissa, to invite her sympathy in his successful trick, but her appearance startled him.

How pale the child was--how dejected and weary her sweet face, with the usually bright, expressive eyes! It needed not the intuition of his kind heart to tell him that she was completely exhausted, and he desired his sister to take her away to bed.
But Melissa was already sound asleep, and Praxilla would not wake her.
She gently placed a pillow under her head, laid her feet easily on the couch, and covered them with a wrap.