When she had gone a few yards in this toilsome manner she caught sight of a glimmering light. It disappeared, and she called at the top of her voice, but the furious roaring of the wind amid the trees rendered her tones inaudible to herself. The light reappeared much closer, and as she saw it coming to meet her she stopped. It proved to be carried by the ancient husbandman himself, attended by her faithful slave, a woman of middle age. Tucca held the lantern as much under the shelter of his sackcloth storm‐cloak as was possible, in order to save its feeble flame from the wind; and as it barely gave light to their feet, and their senses were pre‐occupied with the bluster of the elements, they failed to perceive the form of Plautia standing motionless in the path awaiting them. Speaking being useless, the latter stayed their steps by laying her hand on Tucca’s shoulder, so much to that individual’s sudden consternation that he very nearly dropped the lantern. Turning the struggling candle‐rays up to her pale, stern face, he heaved a sigh of gratification, and, scarcely waiting for her sign to return homeward, he doubled on his track with alacrity, being too well satisfied already with his experience of the night. To cover the short distance to the house was a labour of no small difficulty in the teeth of the tempest. The light was extinguished at once, but that was of no consequence to the old man, who knew as well by night as day every inch of the homestead, where he had passed the whole of his lengthy days. Plautia held to his shoulder, and her cloak was gripped by her slave, and, in this manner, they gained the cottage, with their garments dripping and their faces smarting with the wind, rain, and hail. As soon as her voice could be heard, Plautia’s attendant began volubly to testify to her delight at the success of her expedition, in which she had almost compelled the grumbling Tucca to join; but Plautia curtly checked her and called for some wine, which she drank copiously. Tasting a mouthful of food she then retired to her room, followed by her faithful retainer, who would have given her chance of freedom to have had her burning curiosity satisfied as to the errand of her mistress that night. But the pale, pre‐occupied, stern face of the lady, together with an ominous, fretful impatience of manner, daunted her, so she proceeded in silence with her duties of disrobing and preparing for rest. Plautia lay and tossed the night through, till nearly dawn, in sleepless wretchedness. The shrieking of the storm around the creaking, shuddering cottage seemed a fitting accompaniment to the incessant gnawing of her bitter disappointment, and it was long ere sheer exhaustion brought an uneasy slumber to her relief.