The short sea‐trip from Rome, and the few days’ subsequent sauntering excursion, from the opposite side of the bay, had served to restore the face and frame of Cestus to a nearer approach to their native fulness of outline. Nevertheless, his broad physiognomy was yet pinched and shrunken, and his garments of rough woollen material hung sharply and loosely about his diminished bulk. The artificial colouring of his skin was yet continued, for the nature of the Suburan was cunning and suspicious, and did not deem the distance from Rome a sufficient reason to discard even this disguise. On perceiving the occupants of the workshop he stopped short on the threshold for a moment, and surveyed them with as much surprise as they regarded him. Masthlion raised his face from his hands, and, taking one step forward, gazed at the new‐comer intently. Cestus fixed his small keen eyes on the lovely face and form of Neæra, who, instinctively, inclined toward her lover. Then he withdrew his glance, and, marching up to Masthlion, clapped the potter on the shoulder with all his old swagger and assurance. ‘How now, kinsman? How fare you after all these years? Do you not remember me?’ cried he. Masthlion’s heavy brows were knitted: his eyes gazed, nay, almost glared intensely into his visitor’s face. It would be almost impossible to describe the mixture of feelings which agitated his whole frame. Wonder and relief were dominant, and anguish lay numb beneath. Suddenly his visage cleared, and he clutched the arm of Cestus convulsively, with such a grasp of iron that the Suburan winced. ‘Marvel of marvels!’ he gasped; ‘what, Cestus, is it thou? From where? Thou art not dead, then—the gods be praised.’ ‘I’m glad on’t, kinsman, if it hath pleased thee,’ said Cestus. ‘I have had you in my mind every day for months past—nay, as you entered, you were present in my mind.’ ‘That was love indeed, and means a warm welcome—thanks, brother!’ ‘Welcome—ay, welcome!’ exclaimed the potter, seizing both hands of the Suburan and shaking them fervently, ‘the very man of all I wished to see, and the least expected. It is the doing of the gods—praised be the gods!’ ‘Humph!’ ejaculated Cestus, just a little doubtful whether his kinsman’s joy was altogether attributable to personal regard; ‘and, if you will let me have my say, I am just as light‐hearted as you to find you on earth, and not departed to the land of spirits. Luck is with you, Cestus! But how of Tibia, my sister?’ ‘Did you not see her in the house?’ ‘She is breathing like yourself, then! No, I saw her not, nor any live being, though I looked in every room. More fortune, Cestus; for they are all just as you would wish them, even to—and this bonny wench, kinsman. This is the little lass I saw last, as a bit of a chit, with her doll of rags?’ ‘The same, Cestus—Neæra; she has grown,’ said Masthlion.