"It shall!" cried Cethegus with animation. "And I myself believe that your gift is well protected. But allow me, in return----" "In return you have allowed me to fight for you. Chaire!" laughed the Greek, and was gone. "The boy loves me dearly," said Cethegus. "And I am like other human fools--it does me good; and that not merely because I can thereby rule him." Heavy footsteps were now heard upon the marble of the vestibule, and a tribune of the army entered. It was a young Roman with noble features, but of a graver expression than his years warranted. His cheek-bones made a right angle with his straight and severe brow, in true Roman outline; in the deep-sunk eyes lay Roman strength and--at this moment--resolute earnestness, and a self-will regardless of all but itself. "Aha! Severinus, son of Boëthius! Welcome, my young hero and philosopher! I have not seen you for many months. Whence come you?" "From the grave of my mother!" answered Severinus, with a fixed look at the questioner. Cethegus sprang from his seat. "What! Rusticiana? The friend of my youth? The wife of my Boëthius?" "She is dead," said the son shortly. The Prefect would have taken his hand, but Severinus withdrew it. "My son! my poor Severinus! And did she die--without a word for me?" "I bring you her last words--they concern you!" "How did she die? Of what illness?" "Of grief and remorse." "Grief!" sighed Cethegus; "that I understand. But why should she feel remorse? And her last word was for me? Tell me, what did she say?" Severinus approached the Prefect so closely that he touched his knee, and looking piercingly into his eyes, he answered: "She said, 'A curse, a curse upon Cethegus, who poisoned my child!" Cethegus looked at him quietly. "Did she die delirious?" he coldly asked.