Kitabı oku: «Neæra. A Tale of Ancient Rome», sayfa 14

He arose from his seat and walked a few paces onward, when he called to a lad who was nigh.

‘Boy, do you know a potter hereabouts, by name Masthlion – if he be dead or alive? or – ’

The boy simply turned and pointed to the end of a narrow lane which debouched close to. Cestus, thereupon, looked more inquiringly about him, as if striving to recall some remembrance of the spot.

‘I seem to have a sort of recollection of this place – up there is it?’ The lad nodded.

‘Alive?’

The taciturn youth nodded once more, and Cestus walked on with his mind considerably relieved. Once in the little street his memory served him better. ‘Just the same,’ he said, striding into the shop. No one being there he proceeded into the house, where he was equally unsuccessful in discovering any sign of life. He then tried the workshop, and, at last, stood in the presence of those within, as we have described.

CHAPTER VIII

The short sea-trip from Rome, and the few days’ subsequent sauntering excursion, from the opposite side of the bay, had served to restore the face and frame of Cestus to a nearer approach to their native fulness of outline. Nevertheless, his broad physiognomy was yet pinched and shrunken, and his garments of rough woollen material hung sharply and loosely about his diminished bulk. The artificial colouring of his skin was yet continued, for the nature of the Suburan was cunning and suspicious, and did not deem the distance from Rome a sufficient reason to discard even this disguise.

On perceiving the occupants of the workshop he stopped short on the threshold for a moment, and surveyed them with as much surprise as they regarded him. Masthlion raised his face from his hands, and, taking one step forward, gazed at the new-comer intently. Cestus fixed his small keen eyes on the lovely face and form of Neæra, who, instinctively, inclined toward her lover. Then he withdrew his glance, and, marching up to Masthlion, clapped the potter on the shoulder with all his old swagger and assurance. ‘How now, kinsman? How fare you after all these years? Do you not remember me?’ cried he.

Masthlion’s heavy brows were knitted: his eyes gazed, nay, almost glared intensely into his visitor’s face. It would be almost impossible to describe the mixture of feelings which agitated his whole frame. Wonder and relief were dominant, and anguish lay numb beneath. Suddenly his visage cleared, and he clutched the arm of Cestus convulsively, with such a grasp of iron that the Suburan winced.

‘Marvel of marvels!’ he gasped; ‘what, Cestus, is it thou? From where? Thou art not dead, then – the gods be praised.’

‘I’m glad on’t, kinsman, if it hath pleased thee,’ said Cestus.

‘I have had you in my mind every day for months past – nay, as you entered, you were present in my mind.’

‘That was love indeed, and means a warm welcome – thanks, brother!’

‘Welcome – ay, welcome!’ exclaimed the potter, seizing both hands of the Suburan and shaking them fervently, ‘the very man of all I wished to see, and the least expected. It is the doing of the gods – praised be the gods!’

‘Humph!’ ejaculated Cestus, just a little doubtful whether his kinsman’s joy was altogether attributable to personal regard; ‘and, if you will let me have my say, I am just as light-hearted as you to find you on earth, and not departed to the land of spirits. Luck is with you, Cestus! But how of Tibia, my sister?’

‘Did you not see her in the house?’

‘She is breathing like yourself, then! No, I saw her not, nor any live being, though I looked in every room. More fortune, Cestus; for they are all just as you would wish them, even to – and this bonny wench, kinsman. This is the little lass I saw last, as a bit of a chit, with her doll of rags?’

‘The same, Cestus – Neæra; she has grown,’ said Masthlion.

‘Grown! You say true. Neæra – I had forgotten your name – come, kiss your uncle, after how many years away, he dare not say, lest it make him feel so old.’

But the fair girl shrank back from the proffered salute, and offered her hand instead, saying she was glad to see her uncle.

‘Well – well!’ cried Cestus, with his loud rough laugh, ‘I will dispense with the kiss – I will not press it. I would not rob that young gentleman of even one; and, truth to tell, I have not a kissing look about my figurehead. You are, at the same time, the finest lass I have seen for many a day – I give thee joy, Masthlion, of thy lovely daughter. And this noble gentleman, kinsman, has no doubt come to the same conclusion long ago – you do not make us known – he is no apprentice to thy pottery trade I can see.’

‘A friend, kinsman – and – and Neæra’s betrothed,’ explained the potter, with an askant look at the countenance of Cestus.

‘Ho! ho!’ cried that worthy, ‘then ’tis all settled. Give thee joy – you have won a fair jewel, sir – but you give me no name, kinsman.’

Martialis had drawn himself to his full height, and his face was fixed in its haughtiest aspect, on the voluble, unretiring Suburan.

‘My name is Martialis; and if you are indeed the uncle of Neæra I will take your hand,’ he said, stretching out his fingers accordingly.

‘I am proud to do so with such a free-minded noble,’ answered Cestus, suiting the action to the word, ‘for you are of knightly rank, I see, and as much above me as the eagle above a barn-door fowl. Nevertheless I can wish you happiness; fortune, without doubt, you already possess, so there is no need to wish you that.’

‘I thank you!’ said Martialis coldly.

‘And you! I remember you being stouter in body and whiter in face. Whence have you come?’ inquired Masthlion.

‘It is a long story, kinsman, and I will tell you at leisure,’ replied Cestus; ‘enough for the present to tell you I have been at death’s door, and have come to gain back my strength in the pure air of Surrentum. I have come to tarry a season in your house, Masthlion, if you are willing – it shall cost you nothing, save the infliction of my company.’

‘Stop, and welcome, till you are hale and strong; but, for the rest, I can yet afford to house my kinsman, as a guest, without turning tavern keeper – no man who tastes my bread and salt under my roof must pay for the same.’

‘Well, as you like. I am delighted to see you, by Jupiter.’

‘And I thee – I have needed thee, and have much to say.’

‘And I also; most especially to have my eyes gladdened with Neæra, my fair niece – but come, there yet remains sister Tibia.’

‘Ay, true,’ said Masthlion, going to the door. ‘Into the house! Haste thee, girl – take thy uncle’s wallet! Prepare his room! Get water! The Centurion will excuse thee for a little time. I will go and get rid of my clay coating and be with you soon – come!’

They all, therefore, left the workshop, and proceeded into the house. The potter’s wife, in the meantime, had re-entered, and met them. She looked curiously at the strange figure of Cestus for a moment, and then rushed forward and embraced him, giving vent to as many signs and expressions of astonishment and delight as her quiet mild nature was capable of. There was, indeed, a faint similarity between the character of their faces, but very little between their dispositions.

‘Hark’ee, brother-in-law!’ said Cestus to Masthlion, as the latter was withdrawing out of the little guest chamber, whither Neæra had conveyed the appliances wherewith the traveller was to refresh himself after his journey, ‘tell me something more of that tall young fellow downstairs. ’Tis a gay young cock to be haunting a potter’s house.’

‘’Tis a matter which has already given much trouble – nor am I yet satisfied,’ returned Masthlion, knitting his heavy brows.

‘Just so; the girl is handsome, and people tattle. One of his breed is a dangerous visitor to your pigeon-cote,’ said Cestus.

‘He has acted fairly and honestly, and is in haste to wed her.’

‘Bid him wait, and be patient for a while.’

‘What was I to do? I bade her tell him to come no more – to give her up as unfitting. He refused, and I went to Rome to find thee.’

‘Aha! Hast been to the great city, Masthlion, a-seeking me – well?’

‘I could not find you, nor yet Balbus, with whom you dwelt.’

Cestus grinned.

‘No, it is not likely, for Balbus is not there.’

‘I did my best; I was in despair, and could not but let things go as they were fated. You never came nigh all these years – it was reasonable to suppose that you were dead.’

‘And nearly dead I have been.’

‘Even as you were entering, he was pressing me for her marriage.’

‘I came just pat, did I not?’

‘Thank the kind gods you have thereby relieved me of a heavy load, and I fear have – but that is for me alone.’

‘But know you nothing more than the young fellow’s name?’ demanded Cestus.

‘I inquired in Rome. He bears a high character.’

‘He is a citizen then. What brought him here?’

‘He is a Pretorian Centurion with the Prefect at present in Capreae.’

‘Ho! ho!’ murmured Cestus, ‘this may be useful. I am sorry you had your journey to Rome for nothing, kinsman; but I am not too late, as it happens, to ease your mind. I can, as you know, help you in this matter, and I really came with much the same business in my head. It is a long story, and had best be entered upon when we have a flagon of wine between us, and the women asleep in bed upstairs.’

‘Good; that will be to-night, if you are not too tired,’ replied Masthlion, with a sigh of deep satisfaction.

‘Meanwhile, fob the Pretorian off; it may, perhaps, be worth his while – who knows?’

Masthlion retired to make himself presentable, and when both men appeared below, they found a simple meal ready awaiting them.

They did not recline on couches to their food, after the luxurious manner of the higher classes, but sat round the table in the simple old-fashioned way. Cestus ate and drank vigorously. Nor did his tongue remain idle. Among many things, he informed them that he had met with a severe accident, in which he had broken some ribs, and in consequence of which his master had granted him leave of absence to visit his kinsfolk, as soon as he was able to move.

He had nearly all the conversation to himself. His sister was naturally silent, and her husband was too busy with his thoughts to speak much. As far as the lovers were concerned, Neæra’s mind was divided between disgust at having her blissful day spoiled by the unexpected visitor, and the disagreeable feeling of knowing that his stay was to be more or less prolonged. Her nature shrank from this unknown relative – his appearance, his loud, over-confident, self-sufficient style of talk, not unmixed with coarse wit or impertinence. He was an unwelcome addition to her family circle, especially in the presence of her lover. Many a time did the warm blood flame in her cheeks, and the fire flash in her eyes, as the Suburan’s tongue wagged on with its accustomed fluency; and, not the least, on account of the free and easy bearing of the talker towards her Centurion. Thus, when at length the Pretorian grew wearied of the pertinacity and familiarity of these attentions, and seized the earliest opportunity of taking his leave, the fair, indignant girl was relieved, even though the movement was to cost her the company of her lover. Angry, vexed, and ashamed, she laid her head on his shoulder as they stood alone before parting. He noted the red cheeks and the clouded brow, and he smiled.

‘What think you of your new-found uncle?’ he said.

‘Would he had never been better known to me than hitherto,’ she answered.

‘You do not like him?’

‘How could I?’

‘And you never before heard of him?’

‘Never; would it were the same now!’

‘It is strange,’ he muttered. These last words were not audible to Neæra, and after a moment’s consideration he bade her bring her father for a few words.

‘You are angered – you are vexed at this man?’ she said anxiously.

‘He can be of no consequence to me, nor need I ever see him again.’

‘You will never come while he is here, and he may stay – oh, so long.’

‘We will see,’ he replied, smiling, as he took her in his arms again. ‘But go,’ he said, rousing himself; ‘time begins to press upon me; it will be sunset ere I reach the island. Go, bring your father.’

‘Lucius, what meant he when he said, “Not father!” in the workshop?’ asked Neæra earnestly, looking up into the soldier’s face ere she loosed herself from his embrace.

They gazed into each other’s eyes. The black piercing orbs met the lustrous gray ones, shining with their lovelight, as if to read each other’s souls, and then he shook his head.

‘I know not,’ he said; ‘it may be nothing – it may be something; you will discover in time, my beloved. Think no more of it.’

Neæra departed, and brought Masthlion. Martialis proceeded to impress upon him the desirability of fixing a time for his marriage with Neæra. He used all his arguments, but to no purpose, for the potter refused all negotiation.

‘In a reasonable time you shall know, but not thus soon.’

‘Good. The next time I come I will demand it,’ answered the lover, in some heat. ‘Farewell!’

Masthlion left the room, and the Centurion, as he embraced his betrothed, said, ‘Your father is unreasonable, – of what use is it to delay?’

She murmured something to appease him, and he finally tore himself away.

In order that she might come into contact as little as possible with Cestus, she began to engage herself in household work elsewhere than where he was. This she managed to protract until near the time for retiring, which she made earlier than usual; and, thus, was almost altogether quit of the object of her dislike. By and by the dame Tibia thought fit to follow her example, so the potter and his brother-in-law were left together.

CHAPTER IX

The fitful movements on the floor of the room overhead ceased in the course of a few minutes, and Masthlion knew that his wife was in bed. During the last hour his nervous agitation had increased, and had been hard to hide; he now, therefore, hastened to put an end to this painful state of suspense.

‘Are you too weary to talk now, Cestus; or will you that we should wait?’ he said to his companion.

‘I’d as lieve have a chat with thee now; in fact, I feel in the humour. I am in rare spirits at finding everybody well and happy,’ replied Cestus gaily. ‘Bring out the drink, kinsman, and shut the door; what better could one wish when we are alone together?’

Masthlion quickly made the required dispositions and sat opposite his brother-in-law before the bright fire alluded to. He stretched his arm out at length upon the table, with his fingers nervously moving and tapping thereon, whilst he watched the Suburan pour out some wine into two cups. Cestus’s keen perceptions had already observed the signs of his kinsman’s inquietude of mind, and he, therefore, became just as deliberate and phlegmatic in his movements, following a natural bent in his humour, which, with equal satisfaction, would have watched the torture of a Sisyphus, or the wriggling of a maimed and terrified insect. The blaze of the logs threw their countenances into relief – the newly-grown shaggy beard of the Roman, and his swarthy stained skin, together with his blunt features, contrasted with the high, domelike, intellectual forehead, overhanging the deep-set, bright eyes of the potter, so anxiously, thirstily bent on the calm, lazy motions of his companion. No other light being present, their distorted shadows flickered and moved athwart the opposite wall in varied and grotesque forms.

‘Kinsman, you are anxious,’ observed Cestus, as he slowly dribbled the wine into his cup until the liquid bubbled on the very brim.

‘I own it,’ replied Masthlion.

The Suburan raised the brimming cup carefully to his mouth and took a deep draught, whilst the potter hastily took a sip which barely wet his lips.

‘Yes,’ continued Cestus, ‘you are anxious because you have a very strong notion that the time has come when that rare girl, who is warming her pretty limbs in bed upstairs, is beginning to trim her feathers to fly from the old bird’s nest.’

‘I cannot deny it,’ replied Masthlion briefly.

‘Why, it is the way of the world. You could never hope for such as she to escape matrimony and go on, as a maiden, all her days?’

‘It would not be likely; she is as good a child as she is fair. The point is already settled.’

‘Well then, if she is fated to leave you with her husband, why should it trouble you the more to see me drop in? Did you think I was coming to carry her off? It would amount to the same thing if I did.’

‘You are trifling, Cestus,’ said the potter somewhat sternly. ‘It is a sore trial to be bereft of an only child at any time, but that does not now constitute the whole matter. While she was a child all was well, but when she found a lover it behoved me to think that she and I were not all concerned in the matter. Had she been my own flesh and blood she could not have been more to me. Yet she is only a charge; and, although I thought you dead, I made the attempt to find you. When that attempt was vain, and you appeared so strangely and opportunely, I was agitated. I am anxious now, but in a different way – my load of responsibility has left me. The child is the dearest thing on earth to me, and what touches her touches me to the inmost fibre of my heart.’

‘And with a perfect right, Masthlion. You have reared her and tended her, and she is yours more than anybody else’s,’ replied Cestus, nodding approvingly; ‘up to a few weeks ago I knew not whether she lived or not – whether you lived or not. You had her as your own, and you might have disposed of her according to your own ideas, but for circumstances, which, unexpectedly, occurring a few weeks ago, as I say, revived in me the greatest interest in the girl. I want no account of your stewardship, kinsman, for I cannot claim it – it is not needed; the girl bears it in her looks. I can neither claim any duty or affection – I want no sentiment – my concern is of a different nature. Nevertheless it is of sufficient importance to me to ask you to go into particulars about this gallant who has found the way to her heart.’

Cestus imbibed another good draught of wine, and after refilling his cup in readiness for the next, he settled himself to listen to the potter’s account of Neæra’s lover. When he had heard everything that Masthlion could tell him he ejaculated ‘Ha!’ and relapsed into deep thought as he gazed into the fire.

‘Well! what is your opinion?’ inquired Masthlion.

‘Opinion!’ echoed Cestus, ‘my opinion is that they have already settled the matter beyond your interference, or mine. If they have taken such a strong fancy for each other that is enough for sensible people.’

‘But the youth – the Pretorian – do you approve of him?’ said Masthlion impatiently.

‘That is a question more of sentiment,’ replied Cestus, ‘and, as the girl belongs more to yourself than to me, I will leave it with you – if you are satisfied I am.’

‘One thing troubles me,’ said the potter, knitting his brows and passing his hand across his forehead, ‘I could wish he had been more on a level with her station – she has been humbly bred in this house – do you not think, Cestus, there is great fear of his fancy cooling as time goes on? He will for ever be contrasting her simple, plain ways with those proud dames of the city, and he will repent. Ah, Cestus, I fear he will!’

‘Humph!’ said the Suburan, shrugging his shoulders, whilst a grin broke forth on his face, ‘she must run the chance of that accident. Perhaps there may not turn out to be such a difference between them after all. To my eyes she seems as good as he is, and practice will alter her. You have a fancy that your daughter may some day tire of her elevation and return to her old ways under the same old roof.’

‘Heaven forbid! I trust she may be happy with husband and children.’

‘Just so. I have no objection whatever,’ observed Cestus calmly, ‘but there remains one who might, and, until that opinion is obtained, my tall young Pretorian must practise patience and restrain himself, even though he burst.’

‘How! What do you mean?’ cried Masthlion. ‘Another – you never told me.’

‘No, I did not; it was not necessary or wise at the time, which I think is some fourteen or fifteen years ago.’

Masthlion nodded, and his face betrayed the most intense eagerness. Cestus continued coolly, ‘I brought that child to you as a yellow-haired brat, and told you she was an orphan of a poor workman, an old friend of mine. The story was a lie and I deceived you.’

The blood crimsoned the potter’s face, and he drew up his form. Indignation glowed in his eyes, but curbing himself, he said with lofty reproach, ‘A lie, Cestus – that was well indeed.’

‘Nay, don’t fluster yourself, kinsman,’ continued the Suburan, with the utmost sang froid, ‘it was as good a tale to tell you at the time as any. It did you no harm, for you knew no better; nor did I dream that the necessity would ever come that you should. You were without a brat, so I thought you would be glad of this one. I handed it over to you as a stray helpless fledgeling belonging to nobody, and your mind has consequently never been uneasy.’

‘Well, and the truth?’

‘Did your mind never suspect as you looked upon the girl shooting up? Did you never wonder and say to yourself, what kind of poor swinkers were they from whom sprang such a brave slip? Why, it is the first thought which would have struck me, had I never known anything about her – a tall clean-made lass, like one of their goddesses in their temples. I have watched her, kinsman, these few hours – she has ripened just to what might have been expected. I have seen the turn and flash of her eyes, the working of her thoughts written plainly on her face – her whole bearing. Did they ever spring out of the den of work-a-day folks? No, her breed will show itself. Common homespun and ignorance cannot hide it from those that know it – but what can you know, Masthlion, of these proud aristocrats?’

‘Aristocrats!’ exclaimed the potter, springing from his seat. ‘This is another deception – another of your tales!’

‘That you will discover before very long, I hope,’ replied Cestus drily.

‘And her people yet live, say you?’

‘One at least – that will be quite sufficient.’

Masthlion dropped back into his seat with a suppressed groan. ‘Then if this be true I have indeed lost her!’ he said, and he buried his face in his hands.

‘’Tis nought to grieve over,’ remarked Cestus, shrugging his shoulders in contempt at his companion’s want of shrewdness; ‘on the contrary, you should be in a dancing mood with joy. You have reared up the youngster to as fine a filly as one could wish to see, and you may well expect to have your strong chest well lined – better than ever it was before.’

‘Tell me not of money – who thinks of money!’ cried Masthlion. ‘All the gold in the proud city of Rome itself would never comfort me one jot for the taking away of the child. Why did you ever bring her to me, Cestus, and then I had been spared this? – but then, if you had not, I had missed the happiness of the child’s presence these fourteen years.’

‘Exactly,’ replied Cestus, seconding that with alacrity, ‘and then, kinsman, as we have already agreed that you must lose her whichever way it goes, it is, therefore, best to be rid of her on the best terms. Strike the balance and you have a great deal to thank me for. Cheer up, man; things are seldom so black as they are painted at first. You will not be left out altogether in the cold, maybe.’

‘The Centurion and she have already pressed me to follow them to Rome,’ said Masthlion dejectedly.

‘Good! it is the only place fit for a sensible man to dwell in. You may be as secret as you wish, or as public as you think proper to make yourself.’

‘I should be nearer to her of a truth,’ muttered the potter to himself, ‘and could get a glimpse of her from time to time.’

‘True again,’ cried Cestus, overhearing; ‘that is to be done quietly at any corner of a street; but it would be well to avoid possible disappointment and not build upon any nearer familiarity – knights and potters don’t match very well.’

‘I know it, Cestus, I know it! But yet it would be strange if she could forget,’ murmured Masthlion.

Cestus took another pull at his wine, and looking across at his companion’s troubled face, said briskly, ‘Come, Masthlion, this is only speculation; let us get to the facts! Have you anything belonging to the girl which might serve as a token of her early years?’

Masthlion rose up without a word and left the room.

‘That looks well,’ muttered Cestus to himself, and he was once more addressing his attentions to the wine jar when he stopped himself. ‘No! no! be careful, Cestus,’ he said; ‘you are only an invalid yet, and only need what will do you good. You must get strong again as fast as possible.’

Masthlion re-entered bearing a small bundle neatly and tightly bound. He untied and unrolled the package on the table.

‘There, Cestus!’ he said, – ‘there are the self-same things which she had about her when you left her here. They have been carefully kept.’

The small eyes of the Suburan flashed with joy as they rested on the contents. He lifted them up one by one and examined them. They consisted, as the potter said, of the tiny garments of a child two or three years old; and, in addition, there was a small bag of soft leather, not larger than the girth of a small-sized walnut, to which was attached a fine steel chain to encircle the neck. Pouncing on the bag Cestus extracted a carved amulet of polished stone. His face fairly beamed with delight as he gazed. ‘Good!’ he said, as he replaced the stone, and put the bag carefully away in his breast, ‘this is of the highest importance; taken together with yourself and Tibia they are enough for what I want. And now to let you into the secret. In the first place, Masthlion, that rare piece of womankind who is dreaming of her lover upstairs, owes her life directly to me, the rough bear, whose face she declined to profane her pretty lips with.’

‘Her life!’ exclaimed the potter.

‘Nothing less, kinsman,’ continued Cestus. ‘The same Balbus whom you knew as my master, was a man of great estates and wealth. I acted as a kind of bailiff for him in Rome, and feathered my nest very fairly indeed. There was a kinsman of this Balbus, a young man, and not very well off as regards worldly goods. In the course of events this person and myself had grown to be very intimate and confidential over various little matters in which I had served him on the sly. He was well born, well spoken, and well dressed – a gentleman born and bred; but, at heart, as great a scamp as any footpad and cut-throat that haunts the roadside. Being only very moderately supplied with money, in his own right, his mind very naturally dwelt upon the enormous amount which flowed annually into the coffers of his kinsman, old Balbus, my master. It is a weakness of human nature, Masthlion, for a poor man to speculate concerning a rich kinsman. But this youngster had a subtle brain beyond his years, and was not content to speculate. To wait on chance, in his case, was, in all probability, to wait and be no better; for, had he even been the next heir, his kinsman, Balbus, although got into years, was hale and hearty, and as tough as leather. That was bad enough; but what made it worse for his hopes, he was not the direct heir. There was one life between him and what he schemed for. That one was all the more closely and tenderly watched because it was all that my old master Balbus had left him. Of all his family nothing remained to him but this one life – a daughter’s daughter; the mother, the last of his children, had died in giving it birth, and he was left, like an old oak, with this young slip budding beside him. That young slip, as I sit here before you, Masthlion, is the girl who calls you father.’

The potter sat still. His gaze was concentrated with painful intensity on the speaker. His fingers clenched the table like a vice, and his breast heaved and fell in a tumult of emotion.

‘You can easily supply the rest,’ continued Cestus.

Masthlion nodded without speaking, and his head fell on his breast. His heart swelled to bursting. He dare not trust himself to open his mouth to utter a sound. If this was true, and he felt it was, the figure of his Neæra’s grandparent rose in his mind’s eye – a haughty, stern, and aristocratical old man, extending a proffered reward and polite thanks with a lofty condescension which could not be mistaken for anything but a final dismissal; and there, beside him, the child herself, in her rich robes, seeming too full of delight at the novelty and pleasure of her new position to think very seriously of her separation from the old. He pictured himself refusing the proffered gold, and turning away to go back to his desolate and darkened hearth, far away and forgotten for ever.

His fancy was warm, and his sensibilities as keen as a sensitive woman’s. The probability of such a scene as this, which leaped so swiftly and vividly across his brain, was almost too much for his nature to bear. His throat pained him, and the water seemed to burn its way into his eyes; so he sank his head gradually lower until his brow rested on the table.

‘Well, the rest comes naturally enough after what I have said,’ continued Cestus, seemingly taking no heed of his companion. ‘The young man I speak of could act the hypocrite to a nicety. He was clever-tongued, sociable, and took great pains to make himself agreeable to his kinsman, old Balbus, who was, in many things, as simple as a child, so that they were always very great friends and companions, which was a great help to the plan which had to be carried out. It was very simple, and the first step was, as I need hardly tell you, the making away of the child which stood in his path. I know I cannot set myself up as a model of a man, but what follows will show that my heart was considerably softer in the grain than this young serpent’s, which, if it exists at all – which I doubt – is like granite. It was bad enough to rob the old man of the only brat remaining, for he was so wrapped up in it – used to sport with it and tend it like a woman, and was scarcely able to allow it out of his sight. You remember the child then, potter – a yellow-haired big-eyed youngster, and enough to make a fool of any man who cared for such toys. Well, kinsman, I take no credit to myself for the part I acted. No doubt it was rascally enough, but I have no doubt in my mind whatever, that what I did, although unconsciously, was the means of saving the girl’s life and position. Had I refused the temptation of his bribe, some other tool would have taken my place, and would have carried out his instructions to the letter, which were to strangle the youngster, drown it, cut its throat, smother it, or anything to silence it for ever.’