Sending his servants from his chamber, he alternately read, and wrote nervously on his tablets, then erased all that he had inscribed, and paced up and down the room.
Presently the anxious head-freedman thrust his head into the apartment.
"My lord, it is past midnight.

The guests have long departed.

There will be serious injury done your health, if you take no food and rest." "My good Antiochus," replied the proconsul, "you are a faithful friend." The freedman--an elderly, half-Hellenized Asiatic--knelt and kissed the Roman's robe.
"My lord knows that I would die for him." "I believe you, Antiochus.

The gods know I never needed a friend more than now! Do not leave the room." The general's eyes were glittering, his cheeks flushed with an unhealthy colour.

The freedman was startled.
"Domine, domine!" he began, "you are not well--let me send for Calchas, the physician; a mild sleeping powder--" For the first time in his long service of Caesar, Antiochus met with a burst of wrath from his master.
"Vagabond! Do you think a sleeping potion will give peace to _me_?
Speak again of Calchas, and I'll have you crucified!" "Domine, domine!" cried the trembling freedman; but Caesar swept on:-- "Don't go from the room! I am desperate to-night.