‘Therefore you will not help to persuade him to go now, as I recommend?’ ‘I will not say a word.’ ‘Think of the blessed change—the sights and shows, such as you never dream of. When you are there you will say, “How did I live in such a dog’s hole as that?”—meaning Surrentum.’ ‘I think I have passed too many pleasant days here to think that ever,’ replied Neæra; ‘but my own inclinations have nothing to do with it, nor shall they.’ ‘Then again,’ continued Cestus, more artfully, ‘the Prefect has been a long time in Capreae, and cannot be expected to remain there much longer. He will return to Rome, and with him Martialis.’ This was a subtle stroke, but he got no reply, save only a low rippling laugh and a shake of her head, which was turned persistently towards the fire. Whereupon he shrugged his shoulders, and silence fell between them for a considerable space, which he employed in fixedly watching her as she sat with her hands clasped across her knee, apparently lost in a reverie. The bright glow of the fire bathed her face and figure, and threw them into striking relief in the now dark room. The Suburan, with his elbow on his knee and his head dropped sideways on his hand, feasted his eyes with the lovely picture she made, which drew no small portion of its charm from the grace of her unconsciousness. It awoke his mind to a strange activity. Out of the dim past he conjured up scenes which remained engrained in his mind as sharp and distinct as events of yesterday. Amongst these was a bright and vivid morning on the Janiculum Hill in Rome; the glorious city spread beneath glittering in the morning beams.... A beautiful child dancing and skipping in pure delight; a hasty dash under a high garden wall, and down a narrow obscure lane.... Then again the depth of a dark, rainy, hot, summer night, when he entered that self‐same room, weary with travel and prolonged toil of search for his destination.... The deposit of his tiny sleeping burden, and the astonished faces of the two inmates of the room.