‘Ay—but not now—not at once!’ replied Cestus sharply. ‘Only, as you say, when you come back from Capreae. That is another thing altogether. It is a promise on condition with a vengeance, when there is every chance you will not be alive to perform it. Hark’ee, Tibia, I am eager for us all to go at once, for this reason, that I am anxious concerning the girl. There have been a couple of fellows from Capreae in the shop lately, for nothing in the world but to see the child herself. I saw them, heard them, watched them. What does this mean? Why, that some fine night your house may be broken into, and the girl carried off to the island by a gang of Caesar’s blackguards. Once there, you may cry for ever to get her back. Is it not time, think you, to be moving such a good‐looking lass out of the reach of the tiger’s claws? Will you leave her to the chance of such a fate, for the sake of a fool’s errand, on the score of a glass bowl?’ ‘The fool’s errand shall be carried out, look you,’ interposed Masthlion sternly, ‘so no more of that. Nevertheless, if you scent danger so close, there is nothing to prevent you all taking ship or horse to‐morrow, if need be. I will follow when I am ready to bid farewell to Surrentum.’ ‘And that is your determination?’ ‘It is—I leave the rest to Tibia.’ ‘Then she and the girl and myself will go hence without delay.’ ‘Speak for yourself, brother,’ said Tibia, standing. ‘When I go my husband goes also.’ ‘The girl, then, I shall take alone,’ cried Cestus furiously. ‘If she will go with thee,’ said Tibia. He started up so violently that he upset his stool, and he stood, for a moment, stuttering with passion. Failing to produce an intelligible sound, he stamped his foot savagely and rushed out of the room. Masthlion gave a grim sort of a smile and went to his workshop. Ere he could shut the door, Tibia slipped silently after him. CHAPTER XVI. To return to Plautia, whom we left on the way from Tucca’s cottage to the villa Jovis, in the stormy, gray dawn. Her litter was set down at a side door of the palace, and Zeno, the steward, stood by to hand her out. His proffered courtesy was loftily ignored, so he turned on his heel and led the way inside. Not a living soul was to be seen; it was, doubtless, before the usual hour for any one of the Imperial household to be astir about the duties of the day. The Greek brought them into a small peristyle close at hand. He threw open the door of a handsomely appointed room, and the noise brought forward, from within, three or four young female slaves, particularly noticeable for their good looks. ‘My prison?’ ejaculated Plautia grimly. The Greek’s face grew pitiable with an injured look.