The white rock, which Plautia had specified, was one she had particularly noticed on her way from the boat. It was of chalky formation, and was embedded in the side of a craggy eminence, around which the rough path wound on its way down to the narrow little beach below. This eminence, which was an irregular spur of a hill, was very rough, and thickly covered with trees and underwood of all kinds, thus affording an excellent shelter, which, in accordance with our story, had already been taken advantage of. On the other side of the footway was only a narrow strip of green turf, fringing a precipitous descent to the sea below. Night had now quite fallen, and the young moon shed a hazy light from its narrow crescent. The Centurion paced leisurely onward, keeping instinctively on the outer edge of the path, and from under the shadow of the rocks and brushwood which walled in the land side. He was well muffled up in his large cloak, and, whilst his hand kept a ready grasp of his sword beneath, his eyes maintained the keenest scrutiny of every object and shadow as he paced along. Not a sound nor a movement, except the light fall of his own feet on the short mossy turf, broke the perfect repose of the spot, and he had now arrived opposite the mass of white chalk or limestone in question. Concluding that this was the appointed place, he stopped and waited, whilst he cast a curious glance around. He looked and listened in vain for a few moments; there was the faint murmur of the sea below, and the fitful breath of the night breeze ever and anon, and that was all. ‘Um!’ he muttered doubtfully. As he spoke, something moved out of the black shadow of a thicket, and stood partly athwart the ghostly white face of the chalk rock. He perceived, by the flow of drapery on the form, that it was a woman, and surprise and wonder took more possession of him than ever. He remained motionless for a space, and finding that the strange figure did not move, he stepped forward two or three steps; upon which the mysterious shape drew back into the dark shadow of the thicket whence it had appeared. ‘This is the white rock,’ said the Pretorian; ‘who wants me?’ As his voice fell quietly on the calm air the female figure came forth and confronted him. ‘Martialis!’ said the voice of Plautia, with a faint tremor in its rich tones. He started and scanned her keenly. ‘That is my name,’ he replied ‘Was it you who bade me come? I seem to know your voice. What can you want with me, and who may you be?’ ‘Accept the grateful thanks of Plautia for your kind and ready obedience to her wish.’ ‘Plautia—you—here! And yet I was sure of the voice!’ he muttered.