reveries, his mind was constantly engaged in weaving a web around his treacherous patron. It was, literally, war to the knife. ‘He thinks I am dead,’ he muttered to himself, with a smile of satisfaction. ‘Good! his awakening will be all the more sudden and startling.’ When once safely delivered out of the jaws of death, the march of Cestus toward complete recovery was wonderfully rapid. Day by day he made a huge stride, and, day by day, his appetite grew more and more surprising. When at length the physician ceased from paying his visits, the patient hinted at his own speedy departure. ‘Had it been safe for me to have been removed to my own home I would not have troubled you so far,’ he said to his generous host; ‘but I am strong enough now to bear a journey, and I will betake myself from the city altogether.’ But his friend in need bade him beware of a relapse, and advised him not to mar a wonderful restoration of strength by premature exertion, for the sake of a few days’ earlier liberty. Cestus listened and took the advice, which protracted his sojourn for a week. His plan of action had already been resolved on from the first, and he now made the few arrangements to carry it out. To gather strength and harden his frame by gentle exercise he made short excursions out of doors. The first time he did so his entertainer tried to dissuade him, on account of the danger he ran of being seen by his supposed enemies. ‘Why, master,’ returned Cestus, ‘there is less danger than you think; for, in the first place, it is the time of day when those fine fellows, who left me for dead, with a curse on them, are all at their daily labour. Then again, I would remind you, that my looks are altered for the time. I am as thin and shrunken in body as an eel‐skin; my beard is two inches long; and I further purpose to alter myself with a certain juice of a berry which I can buy for a sesterce; so have no fear, my kind benefactor.’ Now, in safe keeping in the Subura, Cestus had an amount of money which remained of the last instalment he had demanded of his patron, as we have related previously. A tolerable portion had been already squandered, but the residue was enough to enable any Roman artisan, such as he represented himself to be, to live comfortably for a year without labouring. But, not knowing to what exigencies the execution of his plans might bring him, he resolved to incur no suspicion by its immediate use. He, therefore, applied to his host, to provide him with a small loan to cover the cost of a few clothes and the expenses of his journey. ‘Your honour,’ he said, ‘has been so good already that I shame to ask more from you. To take in a poor wretch—to snatch him from death’s door—to nurse him, feed him like a brother, and with small hope of return, is a thing that the gods will bless you for and prosper you.’ ‘Say no more,’ replied the other; ‘here is what will help you.’ He placed in the Suburan’s hand a sum equal to about five pounds sterling.