‘I know not,’ he said; ‘it may be nothing—it may be something; you will discover in time, my beloved. Think no more of it.’ Neæra departed, and brought Masthlion. Martialis proceeded to impress upon him the desirability of fixing a time for his marriage with Neæra. He used all his arguments, but to no purpose, for the potter refused all negotiation. ‘In a reasonable time you shall know, but not thus soon.’ ‘Good. The next time I come I will demand it,’ answered the lover, in some heat. ‘Farewell!’ Masthlion left the room, and the Centurion, as he embraced his betrothed, said, ‘Your father is unreasonable,—of what use is it to delay?’ She murmured something to appease him, and he finally tore himself away. In order that she might come into contact as little as possible with Cestus, she began to engage herself in household work elsewhere than where he was. This she managed to protract until near the time for retiring, which she made earlier than usual; and, thus, was almost altogether quit of the object of her dislike. By and by the dame Tibia thought fit to follow her example, so the potter and his brother‐in‐law were left together. CHAPTER IX. The fitful movements on the floor of the room overhead ceased in the course of a few minutes, and Masthlion knew that his wife was in bed. During the last hour his nervous agitation had increased, and had been hard to hide; he now, therefore, hastened to put an end to this painful state of suspense. ‘Are you too weary to talk now, Cestus; or will you that we should wait?’ he said to his companion. ‘I’d as lieve have a chat with thee now; in fact, I feel in the humour. I am in rare spirits at finding everybody well and happy,’ replied Cestus gaily. ‘Bring out the drink, kinsman, and shut the door; what better could one wish when we are alone together?’ Masthlion quickly made the required dispositions and sat opposite his brother‐in‐law before the bright fire alluded to. He stretched his arm out at length upon the table, with his fingers nervously moving and tapping thereon, whilst he watched the Suburan pour out some wine into two cups. Cestus’s keen perceptions had already observed the signs of his kinsman’s inquietude of mind, and he, therefore, became just as deliberate and phlegmatic in his movements, following a natural bent in his humour, which, with equal satisfaction, would have watched the torture of a Sisyphus, or the wriggling of a maimed and terrified insect. The blaze of the logs threw their countenances into relief—the newly‐grown shaggy beard of the Roman, and his swarthy stained skin, together with his blunt features, contrasted with the high, domelike, intellectual forehead, overhanging the deep‐set, bright eyes of the potter, so anxiously, thirstily bent on the calm, lazy motions of his companion. No other light being present, their distorted shadows flickered and moved athwart the opposite wall in varied and grotesque forms.