They did not recline on couches to their food, after the luxurious manner of the higher classes, but sat round the table in the simple old‐fashioned way. Cestus ate and drank vigorously. Nor did his tongue remain idle. Among many things, he informed them that he had met with a severe accident, in which he had broken some ribs, and in consequence of which his master had granted him leave of absence to visit his kinsfolk, as soon as he was able to move. He had nearly all the conversation to himself. His sister was naturally silent, and her husband was too busy with his thoughts to speak much. As far as the lovers were concerned, Neæra’s mind was divided between disgust at having her blissful day spoiled by the unexpected visitor, and the disagreeable feeling of knowing that his stay was to be more or less prolonged. Her nature shrank from this unknown relative—his appearance, his loud, over‐confident, self‐sufficient style of talk, not unmixed with coarse wit or impertinence. He was an unwelcome addition to her family circle, especially in the presence of her lover. Many a time did the warm blood flame in her cheeks, and the fire flash in her eyes, as the Suburan’s tongue wagged on with its accustomed fluency; and, not the least, on account of the free and easy bearing of the talker towards her Centurion. Thus, when at length the Pretorian grew wearied of the pertinacity and familiarity of these attentions, and seized the earliest opportunity of taking his leave, the fair, indignant girl was relieved, even though the movement was to cost her the company of her lover. Angry, vexed, and ashamed, she laid her head on his shoulder as they stood alone before parting. He noted the red cheeks and the clouded brow, and he smiled. ‘What think you of your new‐found uncle?’ he said. ‘Would he had never been better known to me than hitherto,’ she answered. ‘You do not like him?’ ‘How could I?’ ‘And you never before heard of him?’ ‘Never; would it were the same now!’ ‘It is strange,’ he muttered. These last words were not audible to Neæra, and after a moment’s consideration he bade her bring her father for a few words. ‘You are angered—you are vexed at this man?’ she said anxiously. ‘He can be of no consequence to me, nor need I ever see him again.’ ‘You will never come while he is here, and he may stay—oh, so long.’ ‘We will see,’ he replied, smiling, as he took her in his arms again. ‘But go,’ he said, rousing himself; ‘time begins to press upon me; it will be sunset ere I reach the island. Go, bring your father.’ ‘Lucius, what meant he when he said, “Not father!” in the workshop?’ asked Neæra earnestly, looking up into the soldier’s face ere she loosed herself from his embrace. They gazed into each other’s eyes. The black piercing orbs met the lustrous gray ones, shining with their lovelight, as if to read each other’s souls, and then he shook his head.