"Yes, as a poor man who has always possessed nothing can feel for a rich merchant whose whole fortune is about to founder at sea. Do not spurn my feeble sort of pity. But do you know nothing of her, not a word, a sign? Is she alive or dead? Much less, does she still care for you?" "Nothing!" answered Drusus, and the sense of vexation and helplessness choked his utterance. "She vanished out of sight at Baiae, as a flash of lightning passes away in the sky. I cannot imagine the cause of her disappearance. The pirates, indeed, might have wished to take her for ransom; but no, they bore her off with never a demand for money from any friend or relative. I have tried to trace them--the Pompeian ships on every sea make it impossible. I have questioned many prisoners and spies; she is not at the Pompeian camp with her uncle. Neither can I discover that her kinsmen among the enemy themselves know where she is. And to this is added that other mystery: whither has my Aunt Fabia vanished? How much of the account of those who followed her to the river dock is to be believed--that pirates saved her from Gabinius, and then abducted her? Upon all, my clever freedman Agias is gone--gone without ever a word, though I counted him faithful as my own soul!" "And what then do you expect?" asked Antonius, not without friendly interest. "What can a man, who dares to look the situation in the face, expect, except something too horrible to utter?" and Drusus groaned in his agony. "You mean--" began his friend. "That the pirates have kept Cornelia and perhaps Fabia in their vile clutches until this hour; unless, indeed, the Fates have been merciful and they are dead! Do you wonder at my pain?" "_Phui!_ we will not imagine any such disagreeable thing!" said Antonius, in a sickly effort to make banter at the other's fears. "Don't speak again unless you want me your enemy," threatened Drusus, springing up in fury. Antonius knew his own interests enough to keep quiet; besides, his friend's pain cut him to the heart, and he knew himself that Drusus's dread was justified under the circumstances. "Do you think there will be a battle to-morrow?" demanded Drusus, after some interval of gloomy silence. "I would to the gods it might be so," was his answer; "are you thirsting for blood?" Drusus half drew his short sword, which even in camp never left the side of officer or private during that campaign. "Thirst for blood?" he growled. "Yes, for the lives of Lucius Lentulus, and Domitius and his accursed younger son. I am hot as an old gladiator for a chance to spill their blood! If Cornelia suffers woe unutterable, it will be they--they who brought the evil upon her! It may not be a philosophic mood, but all the animal has risen within me, and rises more and more the longer I think upon them and on _her_." "Come," said Antonius, lifting his friend by the arm, "and let us lie down in the tent. There will be toil enough to-morrow; and we must take what rest we may." II