The short frenzy, however, sufficed to purge his veins somewhat, and when its fury had fled it left him comparatively calm and collected. He became aware of an appetite which needed appeasing, and he turned his steps homeward. When he entered the house, he found that the time had flown considerably beyond his reckoning, and that the family were all in bed. He was not sorry, however, at this, and, after eating the supper which had been left standing for him, he went to bed, where his excited thoughts kept him from sleep till nigh the time when early risers were beginning to stir between the bedclothes, and collect their thoughts for a new day’s labour. Then indeed he slept heavily, and came down late, to find every one busy in their daily occupations—Masthlion, as usual, locked in his workshop. Whilst eating his breakfast Neæra came in, fresh and fair as the morning itself, but with anxious thought in her lustrous, gray eyes. ‘You did not return yesterday until we had all gone to bed,’ she said. ‘It was because you are persisting in what you said about your presence being the cause of my father’s trouble of mind.’ ‘Not at all,’ replied Cestus, whose mind was too fully weighted with other matter to trifle with this question, ‘I met with an old friend, and we sat talking about old times till late—that’s all.’ ‘You vexed me by saying what you did.’ ‘I was rude,’ replied Cestus, as he rose from the table, ‘and I am sorry. Your father cannot do without me for a time yet, and I do not intend to quit you. I was joking—I am too comfortable and you are too kind.’ ‘Ah, then you know what ails him?’ ‘I have been thinking, and I have an idea; but I will find out and tell you. It is a fine day—I must be off out into the sunshine. What a pleasant morning for a trip from Capreae.’ He looked sidelong at her, and marked the faint tinge which rose to her cheek. ‘You remember that man who came into the shop yesterday,’ she remarked. ‘Yesterday!’ murmured Cestus, with lack‐lustre eyes. ‘Yes! you looked at him and his slave as if you took an interest in them; then you hurried away and came back when they had gone.’ ‘Oh—ah!’ ‘You said you knew them.’ ‘I know that I have seen him in Rome, and that he lives on the Esquiline; but what he does here I don’t know. Very likely on the same errand as my poor self—change of air and a holiday.’ ‘Is he a great man?’ ‘In his own estimation, doubtless—he is of knightly rank, I believe.’ ‘His behaviour did not keep pace with his rank then—I hope he may not pay us another visit.’ ‘’Tis very likely he may if he has come to sojourn here for a time. If he does don’t fail to tell me of it, and of all he says. He is one of your well‐dressed scamps, and thinks that every good‐looking poor girl is fair prey—the city swarms with such. But let me know, and don’t be afraid. I am city‐bred like himself, and know a thing or two, and will soon put an end to his little game if he means anything.’