Cestus departed to his pallet bed upstairs, but Masthlion remained sitting before the fire for a long time in deep reflection. The small hours arrived, and his wife awoke to find her husband still missing from her side. She stole downstairs to find him musing and sighing, deeply and heavily, from time to time. The fire had smouldered down to a few red embers, and the room was chilly; but the heartsore man did not know. His wondering wife’s hand on his shoulder roused him, and he followed quietly to bed, but not to sleep. Tibia saw instinctively that something was wrong, and she, just as swiftly, ascribed that something to her brother; but, failing to gain anything satisfactory by her inquiries, she wisely allowed the matter to slumber the while. CHAPTER X. Dusk had already fallen on island and sea, when Martialis returned to his quarters at the villa Jovis. He had departed in brilliant spirits, and with the brightest anticipations; but the latter had not been realised, and his mood had suffered. The untimely and unexpected advent of the Suburan had been by no means welcome; added to which, the failure of his purpose to exact a settled arrangement for his union with Neæra had further irritated and annoyed him. The parting caress of the laughing, lovely girl had hardly relieved his chafing spirit, and the journey home was performed at a prodigious speed both by land and sea. The violent exertion allayed the sting of his feelings, but his mood was far from smooth when he saw and lifted the ill‐fated missive of Plautia from the table, where the slave Lygdus had finally left it. His first exclamation, as he read its brief lines, was contemptuous and irritable, and he threw the paper impatiently back on to the table. In another moment curiosity had its turn, and he lifted it again for a further examination. The handwriting furnished him with no clue to the writer, and he was equally at a loss to imagine who could have occasion for summoning him in such a mysterious manner. He remained in doubt whether he should give the anonymous epistle any further attention or not; but his little chamber seemed oppressive to him, and his ruffled thoughts inclined towards any occupation which might relieve and turn their current. He scarcely thought it necessary to arm himself; but, being in utter ignorance of what kind of entertainment he was invited to, a moment’s reflection told him he had best be on the safe side. He, therefore, put on a light, flexible cuirass under his tunic, and took a sword, of the usual short, straight Roman pattern, under his cloak. Thus prepared he once more took the way down to the south landing, glad to be quit of his dark, cheerless rooms.