‘I know not that he will take me thither, and what can you want with him?’ said Neæra. ‘Merely a question or two—you see he has but a poor opinion of me, I am afraid, and I would like to part better friends. I may be able to do him a service some day—who knows?’ ‘He comes when he can,’ said Neæra. ‘Humph!’ replied Cestus, ‘that’s as sure as death; but can you give me nothing nearer?’ ‘Nothing—he might be here to‐day, or he might be a month. But what do you want to ask him?’ ‘Nothing, except for a little information connected with some business of my own; and to tell him to get you away from here as soon as possible, so that I may be able to get a glimpse of you again before long in the city.’ He laughed and rose from his seat about to go forth into the town. ‘The proud dames of the Centurion’s order will perhaps pretend to sneer at you,’ he went on, ‘but you need not mind—you will have the laugh of them, for you will be the handsomest wife in the city. ’Twill be a great change from Surrentum to Rome—from a potter’s daughter to a noble name. But never fear; you will be as pat in the place as you are here. Proud dames and damsels! the handsomest wife in Rome—you will have the laugh of them.’ ‘I seek to interfere with none of them,’ said Neæra; ‘you talk idly, uncle; I am still the potter’s daughter.’ ‘That is so!’ said Cestus; ‘now I’m off!’ He stepped to the door of the shop, and, after the manner of many people, and more especially those whose time is not too fully occupied, he hesitated when he stood on the step, as if to collect his thoughts into a single steady current of deliberation before he finally advanced. This momentary halt for reflection was accompanied by an abstracted glance round the familiar objects out‐of‐doors. To the left was to be seen nothing but the moss and creeper‐grown wall of the road, which crossed at right angles, some fifty yards away; to the right, the sparsely built and quiet lane trended away toward the town. The only signs of life therein, at that moment, were two or three groups of children playing, a couple of dames standing in the roadway to gossip, as they met carrying their water pitchers, and, at a distance of a hundred yards or so, two men leisurely advancing. Turning from the blank prospect on the left to the sight of these two individuals on the right, the lack‐lustre, pre‐occupied gaze of the Suburan snapped electrically into acute attention. Instinctively he shrank back behind the shelter of the broad doorpost, and, for the few brief moments, he assumed the functions of a savage animal, or its imitator, the savage hunter. His ears seemed to prick up; his body took an attitude bent slightly forward, with muscles braced and corded, and head thrust prominently out. His heavy thick brows were knitted down so low as almost to obscure his intense gaze, and his stiff stubbly‐bearded lips were clenched and protruding. Altogether the change was so rapid, and his