As the knight was going out of the room, he suddenly turned back and whispered, with portentous secrecy, ‘Concerning that potter, I had nearly forgotten to tell you. I am afraid the verdict goes dead against him—Caesar has been closeted with his philosophers all morning—lengthy discussion and opinion entirely unfavourable to said potter’s invention—Silenus tells me this, _sub rosa_—I tell it to you, divine Plautia, but you will respect the secret and save me the fate of a talebearer, I know—in half an hour your litter will await you at your garden entrance.’ At the time appointed Plautia was borne away by the stout slaves, and joined Tiberius and his small retinue which awaited her without the villa gates. After a minute inspection of the villa, which was rapidly rising on a height beyond the village, the party returned, and Plautia was escorted to her rooms by her host himself. Refreshments were served. Tiberius, drinking wine, reclined on a couch. ‘You eat nothing, Caesar,’ said Plautia, whose healthy appetite, sharpened by the open air, was not so easily appeased. ‘Age wants for less than youth,’ replied Tiberius, with his admiring gaze fixed upon her. ‘This island wine will suffice me till supper.’ She refilled his cup and acted as his cupbearer, with such charming, smiling grace, that his pale face was suffused with a faint hue of pleasure. ‘You sent for Priscus this morning,’ murmured he, between the sips of the wine which she had tasted for him with her ripe lips. She started and he smiled. ‘Priscus told me,’ he said, laying his thin hand quietly on her arm. ‘Why do you start? Do you think you have committed some grave offence? Can you not send for whom you please—myself included?’ ‘You are too good,’ murmured Plautia, with a pretty assumption of bashful pleasure. ‘Yes,’ continued the Emperor, feasting his eyes on the lovely colour which deepened in her face. ‘You feel interested in the artisan and the work he showed us last night, and you sent for Priscus. I am displeased—you ought to have sent your pleasure to me, who can better serve you than Priscus.’ ‘It was nothing—yet I confess the man’s appearance and his work interested me—I wished to know what you had determined with regard to him!’ ‘I am counselled to think that his invention would not be the benefit which, at first glance, it would seem to be. It is necessary to consider it in conjunction with other things. However, if the fellow is likely to suffer by his unlucky idea, we may be able to make it up in some other particular—let us have him here and hear what he has to say.’ One of the attendants was despatched, and in a short time returned with Masthlion. The potter came before them with his customary respectful, but self‐ possessed bearing; but his expression was a trifle more anxious and careworn, as if delay and want of encouragement had dispirited him. His hopes had been very sanguine.