come with Titus to Rome, was there received with no small honour.  Gisippus tarried in Athens, held in little account by well-nigh all the citizens, and being involved in certain of their broils, was, not long afterwards, with all his household, banished the city, poor, nay, destitute, and condemned to perpetual exile.  Thus hard bested, and at length reduced to mendicancy, he made his way, so as least discomfortably he might, to Rome, being minded to see whether Titus would remember him:  and there, learning that Titus lived, and was much affected by all the Romans, and having found out his house, he took his stand in front of it, and watched until Titus came by; to whom, for shame of the sorry trim that he was in, he ventured no word, but did his endeavour that he might be seen of him, hoping that Titus might recognize him, and call him by his name:  but Titus passing on, Gisippus deeming that he had seen and avoided him, and calling to mind that which aforetime he had done for him, went away wroth and desperate.  And fasting and penniless, and—­for ’twas now night—­knowing not whither he went, and yearning above all for death, he wandered by chance to a spot, which, albeit ’twas within the city, had much of the aspect of a wilderness, and espying a spacious grotto, he took shelter there for the night; and worn out at last with grief, on the bare ground, wretchedly clad as he was, he fell asleep.

Now two men that had that night gone out a thieving, having committed the theft, came towards morning to the grotto, and there quarrelled, and the stronger slew the other, and took himself off.  Aroused by the noise, Gisippus witnessed the murder, and deeming that he had now the means of compassing, without suicide, the death for which he so much longed, budged not a jot, but stayed there, until the serjeants of the court, which had already got wind of the affair, came on the scene, and laid violent hands upon him, and led him away.  Being examined, he confessed that he had slain the man, and had then been unable to make his escape from the grotto.  Wherefore the praetor, Marcus Varro by name, sentenced him to death by crucifixion, as was then the custom.  But Titus, who happened at that moment to come into the praetorium, being told the crime for which he was condemned, and scanning the poor wretch’s face, presently recognized him for Gisippus, and marvelled how he should come to be there, and in such a woeful plight.  And most ardently desiring to succour him, nor seeing other way to save his life except to exonerate him by accusing himself, he straightway stepped forward, and said with a loud voice:—­“Marcus Varro, call back the poor man on whom thou hast passed sentence, for he is innocent.  ’Tis enough that I have incurred the wrath of the Gods by one deed of violence, to wit, the murder of him whom your serjeants found dead this morning, without aggravating my offence by the death of another innocent man.”  Perplexed, and vexed that he should have been heard