NEAERA
A TALE OF ANCIENT ROME
_This Edition is intended for circulation only in India and the British Colonies._
Macmillan's Colonial Library
NEAERA
A TALE OF ANCIENT ROME
BY JOHN W. GRAHAM
LondonMACMILLAN AND CO.AND NEW YORK1887No. 33
[All rights reserved.]
CONTENTS
PART I CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XI.PART II CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV. CHAPTER V. CHAPTER VI. CHAPTER VII. CHAPTER VIII. CHAPTER IX. CHAPTER X. CHAPTER XI. CHAPTER XII. CHAPTER XIII. CHAPTER XIV. CHAPTER XV. CHAPTER XVI. CHAPTER XVII. CHAPTER XVIII. CHAPTER XIX. CHAPTER XX. CHAPTER XXI. CHAPTER XXII. CHAPTER XXIII. CHAPTER XXIV. CHAPTER XXV.PART III. CHAPTER I. CHAPTER II. CHAPTER III. CHAPTER IV.SOME OPINIONS OF THE PRESS.Macmillan's Colonial Library.FootnotesTranscriber's Note
PART I
NEAERA
CHAPTER I.
Anno Domini Twenty-six, Tiberius Caesar, the ruler of the world, leftRome, with a small retinue, never to return. In the following year hearrived at the island of Capreae, and there took up his permanent abode.It was a spot which already possessed substantial proofs of imperialfavour, in the shape of villas, baths, and aqueducts built by the ordersof the Emperor Augustus. It well merited the partiality displayed, forthere are few places to be found more favoured by nature, in point ofsituation, than this small, lofty, iron-bound mountain-island of Capreae.
Opposite, at a distance of three miles, approaches the tip of a sharppromontory of the mainland, which divides two bays curving away on eitherhand. That on the north, from the earliest times, has had the reputationof being the loveliest in the world. That on the south, although notcomparable, has yet considerable beauty. Capreae, therefore, stands aloofamid the blue waters, at the apex of these two semicircles, surveying bothfrom its lofty mountain and sheer cliffs.
Why the Emperor Tiberius left Rome and secluded himself, for the remainderof his life, in this small island, away from the seat of his empire, hasnever, with certainty, been explained. Whether it was for politicalreasons, or for the purpose of giving full indulgence to those vicioushabits which rumour so freely ascribed to him, is not within the scope ofthese pages to be determined. He hastened to continue to his new homethose same marks of favour which his deified predecessor had begun. Armiesof workmen assailed the summits of the cone-like hills and wave-washedcliffs. New villa-palaces arose on every hand, so that the narrow limitsof the island hermitage might afford to Caesar the utmost varietypossible. Of the twelve projected villas, each named after a deity, somethree or four had been completed and occupied at the time of our story,whilst the building of the remainder was actively proceeding. In theautumn of the year thirty, the date of our story, Tiberius had hiddenhimself away from his people for about three years, and, already, darkrumours were flitting abroad of strange enormities and dread crueltiesshrouded in that outline of mountain amid the sea. The seclusion of theimperial hermit was strictly preserved, and unauthorised feet werejealously warned from his rocky retreat. Curiosity became more inflamedand imagination more rampant. To turn the invisible Caesar into somethingakin to an ogre or monster was an easy and natural outcome of the insularmystery.
One thing, however, is certain, that, although lost, as the Emperor may besaid to have been, to the eyes of the world, the world and its affairs, inturn, were never hidden from him. Caesar remained Caesar--sleepless, promptand vigorous amid his mysterious rocks. Day after day, couriers came andwent with tidings from every corner of the known world. The vast empire,like a sprawling giant, had Capreae for its heart, which impelled thelife-blood ceaselessly to every extremity of its veins and arteries.
* * * * * * *
On an October morning, one of the long, swift boats, used in the imperialdespatch service, left the landing-place in the little Marina, on thenorth side of Capreae, and shot away toward the barren promontory ofMinerva opposite.
The vessel was one of a number used for the busy service of communicationwith the mainland, and was built on fine, sharp lines to attain highspeed. Plenty of power was lent by the brawny arms of a dozen stoutslaves, whose oars swept the craft along, with the gently rippling seafoaming under its sharp bows. The morning was bright, and a deliciousautumn serenity softened mountain and sea with a mellow haze; so that indefault of a breeze to fill the large sail stowed neatly away under thebulwarks, the rowers bent their backs with a will to their work.
There was one passenger on board--a young man with a soldierly air. Heseemed not more than two or three-and-twenty years of age, with large,handsome, boldly-cut features, of the true Roman cast, and keen, darkeyes. The expression of his face, something stern and proud in repose,was, perhaps, heightened by a naturally dark complexion, still swarthierwith sun and wind. He lay wrapped in a large military cloak, beside thesteersman, whose chatter he acknowledged, now and again, by a nod, oroccasionally a brief word, or smile which softened all severity of visagewith a gleam as bright as the sunny sky above.
After leaving the chill shadow of the terrific, perpendicular cliffs ofthe island, the passage across the straits to the mainland was rapidlymade. As the vessel glided finally to its destination alongside a smalllanding parapet of stone, on the shore of the promontory, the young manarose, flung back his cloak, and sprang lightly ashore. He showed a manlystature of at least six feet, and a spare, sinewy frame of the bestathletic build, deep in the chest and thin in the flank. No other garb,than that which clothed him, could more admirably display these fineproportions.
There was the richly-chased, polished cuirass, moulded closely to thelines of the body from throat to abdomen, and imitating them as accuratelyas a plaster cast. From this hung the short drapery of a kilt, orphilibeg, nearly to the knee, leaving the leg, downward, bare to the highboots, which were laced up to the swell of the calf. The muscular arms ofthe young officer were likewise uncovered, save for a short way beneaththe shoulder. The large cloak, before noticed, which hung gracefully fromhis left shoulder, greatly enhanced the effect of this military panoply,particularly suiting the tall stature of the wearer. It was fastened atthe neck by a gold buckle, and could be shifted to either shoulder, or tothe back, or wrapped around the body altogether. On military service, apolished, crested helmet would have completed the costume; but, atpresent, after the usual Roman fashion, the young man's head bore nocovering but its own dark, close-curling hair. For arms, he wore theshort, straight, Roman sword, and a poniard.
Just as it may be remarked at the present day, of a certain exclusiveportion of our own military service, so the unusual richness of the youngofficer's appointments, as contrasted with those of the legionaries,denoted him to be one of the Pretorian Guard, the household troops, latelygathered into a permanent camp at Rome, and brought fairly into a positionfor entering on their future famous career in the affairs of the city andempire.
As he left the boat its crew saluted him. Returning the courtesy, he flungthe perspiring slaves some pieces of money, and walked rapidly up theshore towards a group of buildings, comprising the posting establishment,which had newly sprung into existence, as a necessary adjunct to theEmperor's abode. A signal had been wave
d from the despatch-boat beforereaching the shore, and when he arrived at the door of the stables hefound the ostlers awaiting him with a horse ready caparisoned for theroad.
'Back to Rome, Centurion?' said one, saluting him.
'Back to Rome,' replied he, girding his cloak close around him.
'A good journey!' chorused the stablemen.
Two or three coins rattled on the gravel for answer, and the Pretorianvaulted on to the horse's back, and galloped away.
Riding as rapidly as the path would permit, and without drawing rein, itwas not long before the lovely plain of Surrentum broke on his view,embosomed in the circling vine and olive-clad mountains, edged by the bluewaters of the sea, clothed with luxuriant fruit-groves, and studded withthe villas of the noble and wealthy, who had retired hither to revel inthe soft, salubrious air of this most lovely spot of a lovely land.
But our horseman paid little attention to the exquisite scene. Histhoughts were otherwise absorbed. He passed the girdling hills, and closedwith the town of Surrentum itself. At the posting station, in the midst,he changed horses and went on, scarcely giving time for an idle crowd togather round. He did not, however, go very many hundred yards on hissecond stage, before he suddenly drew rein on the very outskirts of thetown, where the last houses straggled out amid garden-plots and fields. Itwas at a point where a by-road debouched upon his own, almost at rightangles. It seemed to lead back to the town by a roundabout course, and waslined on either side, in a straggling, intermittent way, by gardens andcottage-houses, in the manner of a country village street. The dwellingnearest to where he stood, at the end of the lane, was about a hundredyards distant. It was a small, humble house, like the majority of itsneighbours, and was the outpost habitation of the town in that direction.It was detached and flanked on the town side by a small olive-grove. Inthe rear of the premises was an outbuilding; a workshop, to judge by itsblack, smoking chimney. The house itself was open-fronted as a shop.
The Centurion turned down this lane, and, when within a few yards of thehouse, dismounted and led his horse through a gap in a ruinous wall to theinside of the enclosure, where he tethered him amid some trees. Thence hewalked up to the house, and looked inside the open shop, pausing with afixed gaze.
The interior was fitted with shelves, on which was displayed a stock ofpottery of a kind for which Surrentum was noted. It was not upon these,however, that the rapt eyes of the soldier rested, but upon the tall,lithe figure of a girl, who was busily engaged in taking the articles downand dusting them. Her back being toward him, he entered the shop with astealthy step and stood behind her without her knowledge. Pausing, for amoment, to gaze upon the figure and the glossy coils of the luxuriantbrown hair of the unconscious girl, he bent down and whispered in her earthe name 'Neaera!'
She started violently, and the bowl, which she was wiping, fell from herfingers and shivered with a crash on the floor.
'Oh, sir, is it you?' she murmured.
Her cheeks flushed, and her eyes fell.
'Yes, Neaera, it is I--but only for a few niggard moments. I am on my wayback to Rome. 'Tis six weeks since I saw you, Neaera--you look pale! haveyou fared well?'
'Quite well,' was the brief, constrained reply.
'And your father and mother?'
'Both are well--they are within if you will be pleased to see them.' Shemoved as if to go to the interior of the house, but he laid his handgently on her arm and detained her.
'In a moment, Neaera--do you wish to be rid of me?'
She gave a hasty, timid glance into the street, and he led her aside intoa recess which was less overlooked.
'You neither look at me nor speak, Neaera--are you displeased to see me?Would you rather have had the weary six weeks prolonged into twelve?' Sheraised her head and looked at him with an appealing expression in herbeautiful gray eyes, but, in a brief moment, her gaze fell once more.'Still you do not say whether I am welcome or not, Neaera?' he persisted.
'Spare me from an answer, I pray you,' she replied, in an almost inaudibletone.
His swarthy cheeks flushed with a yet deeper colour, and he drew himselfup. 'As you will,' he returned; 'but if your answer would be "Nay," say itwithout hesitation or fear; for I would have the truth from your heart,even at the expense of a little courtesy.' Her agitation increased, andher fingers worked nervously with the dusting cloth she held. Thosefingers, though stained and roughened with toil, were slenderly anddelicately formed. He took them in his own, and, in spite of her attemptto withdraw them, kept them in his grasp.
'What has happened, Neaera?' said he, looking into her downcast face. 'Hasanything that I have done angered you, or rather, that I have left undone,since I have been chained to duty in yonder island for six weeks? It islong indeed, but we must reflect that had the Prefect no business withCaesar then our meetings would be far seldomer. To Caesar and Prefect Iowe the happy chance of seeing you, and on them for a while still dependfuture opportunities. But what is troubling you, Neaera? You are pale andworn--what has happened?'
'Nothing but reflection--ah, sir, have pity on me--it was better not to havereturned at all.'
'Ah, is it so?--that is easily mended!' he replied, in bitter astonishment.
'Don't blame--don't kill me with scornful tones!' she said, with morecourage, even though the courage of despair; 'think, as I have beenthinking through these bitter weeks--oh, so bitter! It is right--it is justthat you see me no more. What is there in common between us? I am a poorpotter's girl--am rude in speech and manner; you are nobly born and rich----'Her voice trembled with extreme agitation, and she stopped abruptly as ifshe could trust it no longer. A smile of infinite tenderness and pityillumined his fine features.
'Had I needed but one thing more to clench my love, you have given it me,'he said, catching her hands again and drawing her towards him.
'No--it were better to love one of your own station,' she panted, trying torepulse him.
'It is too late to tell me that. Come, look at me, child!'
'No, I have been foolish and am to blame. I ought to have seen that yourway of life cannot be mine. My father has also said it, and he is wise.'
'Ay, he has said it, but you?'
'I say it is truth and must be followed.'
'Foolish! You only bind me the faster to you. Your joint wisdom is vainagainst my conviction. What! are we to part because a weak, foolish fancyseizes you, that your speech and bearing are not like the artificial,superfine graces of the proud dames who loll away their lives in palaces?Gods forbid! Why, there are those of your sex in Rome--ay, even inSurrentum, who would deem me as the dust beneath their feet.'
'And there are others, also, whom you would look upon in the samefashion,' replied the girl.
'True! and many of them of family and wealth far beyond mine.'
'Yet what you have of both is far above me, and therefore, between us, allremains the same.'
'Surrentum cannot better you in a lawyer's wit, Neaera,' he said, with asmile, 'but you spend it in so poor a cause. There remains something farbeyond rank and wealth.'
'Whatever it is, it is not for us in common,' she said, striving to appearcalm; 'it is over now. I have been weak and foolish, and oh, how I havesuffered for it! Forgive me, Centurion, if you can forgive me--go from meand forget me--all our folly.' As she looked him full in the face there wasa depth of anguish in her eyes which filled him alike with pity and joy.At the same time she held out her hand, but he folded his arms across hisbreast. 'Centurion!' he repeated, in a tone of reproof; 'Neaera, have youforgotten my name?'
His bearing and speech throughout had never shown a sign of hesitationwhich might have encouraged her in her determination. He stood before hervast, immovable, and calmly resolute. Her glance drooped, and heroutstretched hand and arm gradually fell to her side. Then she buried herface in her hands.
He bent closer till his breath played on her hair. 'Neaera,' he said, 'youhave been kinder and called me Lucius ere now. Enough of this madness--thisfolly of s
aws and maxims! Misdoubting girl, I love you for what you are,and above all on this earth. To thrust me away were to wreck me wholly;and you would not though you possess the power. For I have gathered itfrom your lips, your eyes, your sweet face, that you have some measure oflove for me in return. Is it not so? Speak, Neaera!'
She trembled violently, and, yielding to an irresistible impulse, he threwhis arms around her and pressed a fervent kiss upon her cheek.
She freed herself with a desperate exertion, and stood off, panting andshaking in extreme emotion, with her cheeks aflame.
'Neaera!' he ejaculated, advancing to her again.
'No, no! Leave me--go and forget me, if you would be merciful and kind!--oh,you are cruel! Alas, can I ever look in my father's face again!'
The sound of a footstep in the passage leading to the interior broke upontheir ears. She cast one swift look of lofty reproach, mingled withsorrow, upon the young man, and then drooped her head upon her breast.
A short, thick-set man presented himself in the shop. His hands, hiscoarse garments, and even his face, were stained with the grime of thefurnace and the smearings of clay; but through these outward tokens of thecommon artisan shone the unmistakable signs of superior intellect, in thebrilliancy of his eyes, deep set under thick brows, and in a massiveforehead, which was very broad and full at the base. His hand, which heraised with a gesture of surprise, as his gaze rested on the young couple,was of the shape usually supposed to be peculiar to the gifted artist andmechanic, being long, square-tipped, and sinewy, with an immenseflexibility and power of thumb. Reading the tell-tale faces of the pairwith a rapid glance, his countenance instantly assumed a grave sternness,unlike the preoccupied expression which previously rested upon it.
'What--Centurion! Martialis!' he said, coldly, and even with an amount ofhaughtiness which might, ordinarily, have been deemed incommensurate withthe relative stations of himself and his visitor.
Although his tone was quiet and free from anger or emotion of any kind,there was an unusual quality in it which seemed to strike the girl not theless acutely, for she hid her pale face in her hands.
'Yes, Masthlion, even I!' returned the Pretorian, stepping forward andoffering his hand.
Masthlion met the open, frank gaze of the young officer for a moment;then, as if not noticing the proffered greeting, he dropped his eyes tothe floor and remained for a few seconds in deep thought. Then raising hishead he said--
'Centurion, I should be grieved to say that you are unwelcome, yet, I sayplainly, that the honour of your visit is not altogether free from thatfeeling. Not from personal dislike, I am bound to say. I will be frankwith you. I am a poor fellow, who earns a modest living for my family bythe hard labour of my hands. You are of the knightly order, and hold highoffice in Caesar's service. You are wholly above the station of me andmine. As you do not honour my humble dwelling for the sake of buying myhandiwork in the way of trade, I have, therefore, a right to reflect andinquire what object your presence has.'
'You have a perfect right, Masthlion,' replied the other, 'and, althoughyou know, as I think, right well already, I commend your method of puttingthe matter thus plainly. I have as little inclination to allow anymisunderstanding and ambiguity to creep about my actions as you have, andI will, therefore, give you freely, and without hesitation, an answer asclear as your question--I love your daughter Neaera!'
The potter nodded in a manner which showed that the reply was no otherthan expected. His glance roved from one to the other, whilst hisdaughter's head drooped so low that her face was completely hidden.
'It is a matter which demands further talk, and, as there is no reason whyit should take place in the sight of neighbours and passers-by, perhapsyou will enter my poor house, Centurion.'
'Willingly--I desire nothing better,' was the reply.
Masthlion, heaving a deep sigh, took his daughter by the hand and led theway along the inner passage. Martialis followed them into a small room,furnished simply with a table, some stools, and a couch; whilst, forornament, some brackets and shelves bore a few exquisitely-finishedspecimens of glasswork, together with some small figures sculptured instone, the fruits of the potter's self-taught genius. From the doorMasthlion called aloud for his wife, and she hastily appeared. She was aspare woman, with patient eyes. Her face had been comely, but was worn andfaded with the hardship and anxiety of a long struggle against hunger andwant in their early wedded life.
A significant glance passed between her and her husband as she perceivedwhat had occasioned the demand for her presence.
She made a silent obeisance to the visitor, and waited for her husband tospeak.
As for Neaera, she stood with her head still bowed on her breast.
Her lover's tall, erect form, draped in its ample flowing cloak, seemed tofill the little room. His eyes rested with calm confidence on Masthlion,who began in grave measured tones:--
'Wife, the Centurion Martialis hath told me that he loves our daughter.'Here he paused a few moments, looking on the floor. 'What we should tellhim is this, that she is our only child, the one light of our house. Buthad we twenty, we must be assured, as far as possible, of good andhonourable keeping ere we let one go from our roof. You understand this,Centurion?'
'Perfectly; it is only natural and proper. Do what you think best for yourassurance.'
'First, then! is it from mere fancy that you would try to take my daughteraway, and then to cast her off when that fancy has burnt itself out, afterthe fashion of many of your order?'
'No,' said the young man, drawing himself up with sparkling eyes; 'I toldyou I loved her--now I tell you she must be my wife, or none other.'
'And are you sure you would always rest in the same mind as now?'
'Ah, as far as human thought and perception can go, I have no doubt ofit,' returned Martialis proudly.
Masthlion shook his head and sighed; and his wife, from long habit ofwaiting on his looks, unconsciously did the same, though without offeringany remark of her own.
'It is ever the way with the young--eager and heedless!' said the potter.'Centurion, as an older man, and one who has not lived in the world withblind eyes, I must tell you that I disagree with you. You are attracted bythe child's fair looks, and you know not, or forget, that familiarity willweaken their influence over your senses. The gods made women fair toplease the hearts of men; but, did they bestow upon them no otherqualities, they would become nothing more than mere toys to be bandiedabout at will. Looks attract first; but it is the disposition, and theaccomplishments of the mind, which are necessary to weave a lasting bondof esteem and love. Where, within these humble walls, has this poor childlearnt those manners and graces which, from habit, you require, beforeall, in a companion? Where could she have gathered the refinements whichwould be necessary to the wife of one of your station? Could you presenther to your fine friends and family? She would shame you at every turn--atevery word. The first blush of your fancy would wear off. You would growangry and disgusted. You would repent of your bargain, and the rest wouldbe nothing but bitterness, reproaches, and unhappiness--if not worse. Thisis a picture more to be depended on than yours, Centurion. Go, therefore,and if you think over it, as you ought to do, without allowing yourfeelings to bias your reflections, you will see that I am right, and youwill come no more. Thus there will be one rash, ill-advised affair theless in the world.'
'Masthlion, your daughter has already told me this,' answered theCenturion, with a smile.
'Did she so?' cried the potter, casting a look of pride and satisfactionat the girl. 'Then she did wisely and obediently--and bravely too, if Iguess aright. Alas! your proudest dames could have done no better. Comeand kiss me, my brave girl!'
Neaera glided to him, and hid her face in his shoulder.
Martialis folded his arms and watched them. The potter had unconsciouslydealt a deathblow to his own cause, if it needed one at all. Their eyesmet at that moment. The acute perception, or instinct, of the artisaninterpreted too well the c
alm, resolute light of the young man's glance,so warm with the picture of the fair girl before him, and he groanedinwardly as he restlessly stroked his daughter's glossy locks. He knew notwhat to say, so heavily did the sense of his helplessness press upon him.
'It is a year since I stopped one day at the old fountain-basin yonder,'said Martialis, stretching out his arm. 'I had ridden far and was thirsty,and Neaera was filling her pitcher. It was thus I met her first. I went onmy way, but her image haunted my mind. I sought her again, and discoveredthat her looks did not belie her heart. I have chosen her to fill my mind,even as you would have me choose; not from a light fancy of the eyesalone, but because I know she is pure, noble, and good in spirit. As forthe rest, you may magnify, from ignorance, my position and importance.Neaera is naturally predisposed toward those trifling changes which youdeem necessary, and she would glide into them instinctively andunconsciously. Masthlion, these arguments will be vain, so use them not. Iask you to give me your daughter Neaera, in betrothal.'
The potter did not reply straightway, but, smoothing the trembling girl'shead ceaselessly with his hand, he stood with his brow contracted inpainful thought, and his eyes bent on the ground.
'In good faith, Centurion,' he said, after an uneasy silence, 'you rend myheart between doubt and anxiety, and a desire to act generously as well asprudently. Can I deliver up my child to a stranger? Were you of thisdistrict I could judge better of you. You are honest and fair-spoken, andyour looks correspond to your speech. But yet you are no more than astranger, and Surrentum knows you not.'
'I would fetch Rome, if I could, to aid you,' said the young man. 'You arepleased to be satisfied with my appearance; I, for my part, will awaityour further inquiries with confidence.'
'I have no suspicion of your character, noble sir, but prudence requiresproof. I cannot give you a decided answer, for now we are at odds andevens. You are sanguine and confident of the future; I am not. Hawksshould pair only with hawks, and sparrows with sparrows. More words atpresent, however, would be spent to no purpose--the matter requires timeand reflection.'
'The child Neaera is not goods or chattels, husband--is she to have no wordfor herself?' remarked his wife quietly.
'Ay, truly, Tibia; thou hast ever a word in season,' answered the potterto his delighted spouse. 'The gods forgive me for a thoughtless blockhead.It would be a fine way of making a pot without first proving if the claybe fit. What say you, Neaera--do you love this young man?'
The girl clung closer, and buried her face deeper in his shoulder, but hersilence was eloquent.
The soldier's bronzed face gathered a deeper tinge, and his ears werestrained to catch the accents which he expected to follow, but which camenot.
'Come, my child,' continued Masthlion earnestly; 'I want thee to say trulywhat thy heart prompts thee to say. If thou lovest him speak it then;there is no crime or harm in it that I can see. You have heard what haspassed, and I can call your confession, if it is what I expect it to be,only by as hard a name as a misfortune. Speak!'
A simple 'Yes' was the reply, in a voice so low and yet so clear that itcaused her lover's blood to bound in his veins with exquisite joy. Hestepped forward as if to take her, but the hand of Masthlion restrainedhis eager advance.
'Enough,' said the potter, 'the mischief is done, it is clear, but yet thematter must rest as it is for a time. I am yet unconvinced, and I give notmy consent so heedlessly to a partnership so brimful of hazard. I must bebetter assured. In the meantime, Centurion, I ask of thee one condition.'
Martialis was burning with eagerness, for his beloved now stood before himready to his arms, with downcast eyes and cheeks blushing with sudden joyand hope.
'Name it!' he said quickly.
'It is that you neither visit nor correspond with this child without myknowledge.'
'It is no more than I have done hitherto,' said Martialis.
'I believe it, and it is much to your credit,' returned Masthlion. 'Nowgo, Centurion. Stand by our agreement; and may the gods direct the matterto the best end--for I need their help.'
'Farewell!' said the young man, reaching forward to clasp Neaera to hisbreast.
'No!' said the potter, once more stretching his ruthless arm before him.
The Centurion frowned; but the cloud fled when he saw the tender, curvinglips of Neaera moving, as though silently fashioning his name, and herbeautiful eyes, more beautiful still, with the light of love and hope andjoy. From the divine smile on her face he drew consolation, as he graspedthe earthy hand of the potter instead of hers.
With a lingering look he drew his cloak around him, and hastened away at apace which received additional lightness and speed from his feelings. Acouple of minutes more and he was galloping at a headlong speed on theroad to Rome.
As soon as their visitor had departed, Masthlion withdrew to his workshopat the rear of his premises. He found it vain, however, to try and use histools during the disturbed state of his mind; for every now and then hediscovered himself standing motionless with them in his hand, his thoughtsbeing far away. After a wasted half hour, therefore, he threw them down,and, washing his hands and face, left the house to wander away on a lonelyramble along the edge of the sea, and up the ravines of the hills, inorder to give unrestrained liberty in his meditations.
The mountains were looming dark and purple in the gathering gloom, and achilly breath from the dusky sea was stirring the leaves when he turnedhis steps homeward. He found his simple supper and his wife and daughterawaiting him. An unusual restraint weighed upon them all. The customaryfamiliar chat was lacking, and the meal passed quickly and in silence.
When Neaera put her arms round her father's neck for her nightly caress,she whispered, 'Have I done wrong in loving him, father? Are youdispleased with your Neaera?'
'I am not displeased, child. I blame no one for loving; yet would I beless anxious had you loved some humbler man.'
'He is noble and good, father.'
'The gods grant it true.'
'If you will it I will see him no more.'
'Nay, you talk foolishly--I hope I am neither harsh nor selfish. Get tobed, child, and try if you can sleep, though your heart be galloping, thismoment, to Rome.'
'Say you are not angry with me then!' she murmured.
'I blame you not, silly girl; I blame six feet or more of human flesh, anda handsome face, which hath beguiled your silly girlish thoughts. Heavenonly knows how much more mischief of the same nature they are guilty ofalready, for I do not--now go!'
Her lips pouted a little, but she left the room with a light step.
The firm, determined mouth of the man quivered, and the moisture dimmedhis deep-set eyes. He passed his hand over his massive brow and gave adeep sigh.
'Wife!' he said briefly, 'I am going to Rome.'
'To Rome!' echoed Tibia fearfully, for the mention of the great cityalways loaded her simple rustic mind with a sense of mystery and danger.
'Ay, to Rome,' rejoined Masthlion; 'the time has come when I must try andfind your brother, if alive. Silo will give me a passage in histrader--'tis about his time to be touching here Tiberward.'
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