Euphorbus opened his eyes in great astonishment. He had never seen so much wealth before. To his feeble arithmetic it was absolutely incalculable. “Euphorbus,” said my uncle, looking toward the blue line of the sea which was visible in the distance, “if this vessel sails from this point to-morrow evening at four o’clock, do you think she could get out of the river and to sea before night came on, to escape any vessel started in pursuit of her half an hour after she weighed anchor?” “Yes, she could not be overtaken by any sail now in the river?” “I make liberal calculations. I say half an hour, but she will have an hour or two hours the start.” “Then she is perfectly safe,” said the other. “Euphorbus!” continued my uncle, looking him in the face, “you are a Gaul. Away over there lies your beautiful country, with its glorious mountains, its swift rivers, its rich fields, its vineyards, its brave warriors. Do you not wish to see it again?” “Yes,” said the soldier with a sigh. “Here you are a stranger, an exile, a prisoner yourself. What are these Romans to you, hereditary enemies, that you should obey them? robbers and murderers of your friends and countrymen, that you should love them?” “I despise them,” said Euphorbus, gruffly. “In Gaul you could be happy. You could return to your old home perhaps.” “The Romans have burnt it.” “You could rebuild it. You could take care of your mother in her old age. You could have a wife at your side and children about your knees.” “Do not talk about these things!” said the Gaul. “They sadden me.” “Talk about them? You shall have them; they are yours. This vessel is yours; one-half of that immense treasure is yours.” “Mine? mine?” “Yes, yours, on one condition.” “What condition?” “That you bring my little Mary out of the amphitheatre to-morrow—” and the old man, overpowered by the strain upon his feelings, burst into tears. Euphorbus was deeply moved. “You ask an impossibility! Oh that I could—” “Will you if you can?” exclaimed the old man, earnestly seizing him by the hand. “Certainly I will—” “It is all I ask!” said Beltrezzor. “Leave it to me. Let me into your private room at three o’clock and I will explain everything to you. If you are not satisfied you can then refuse.” “You speak mysteries,” said the Gaul; “but you yourself are a mystery. Come, as you promise. My life is not much, and I am willing to risk it for you and your little Mary as you call her.” My uncle had been twice every day to visit his niece. The more he saw of her helplessness, her purity, her suffering and her terror, the more she entwined herself about his heart, and the more resolutely did he labor to achieve her deliverance. She clung to him so tenderly, and as the fatal hour approached her fear of the lion became so heartrending, that the old man could hardly tear himself from her embraces.