Masthlion seized upon a last thought which struck his mind, and, instead of obeying the command, fell on his knees. ‘Pardon, Caesar, but it cannot be—this daughter, as I have called her, is not my own begotten child. Those, to whom she belongs, still live, and it is beyond my power to dispose of her, whether I would or no.’ ‘It matters nothing,’ said Tiberius ironically; ‘refer them to me—who are they?’ ‘I know them not, save that they are noble and wealthy and dwell in Rome,’ said Masthlion wildly. ‘The children of nobles are not put into the hovels of potters,’ returned the Emperor contemptuously. ‘She was stolen and brought to me when an infant.’ ‘Then your head is in danger.’ ‘I knew it not until within the last few weeks—she was delivered to me as an orphan child of poor parents—I was childless and I took her in.’ ‘Dare you tell fables to me—go!’ ‘It is truth, before the gods—she is a noble’s daughter and cannot come!’ cried the potter in reckless desperation. ‘Away—you destroy all lenience,’ said Tiberius, starting up with a terrible frown; ‘cannot come—insolent! Ho! Zeno! Who waits there?’ Both the steward and the soldier on guard appeared in the room, almost as soon as the words had left the Emperor’s lips. By the wrathful tone and the angry glow in their master’s eyes, they expected a summary order. The Pretorian’s heavy grasp had already fallen on the potter’s shoulder, but Tiberius merely waved his hand impatiently toward the door, and fell back on his cushions. ‘Quick, you fool!’ whispered Zeno in Masthlion’s ear, and, aided by the Pretorian on the other side, the wretched potter was hurried staggering from the room. ‘Haste!’ said the steward again, when outside, ‘before he changes his mind.’ He dragged his charge along through the mazes of the palace, without stop, until he deposited him, more like a man in a dream, in the narrow little closet which contained his sleeping pallet. Masthlion sank thereon and buried his face in his hands with a groan. ‘Hark’ee, comrade,’ said Zeno, after regarding him for a while, ‘take my word for it, you are well out of that. I have seen better men come worse off. It is only for madmen and fools to make experiments on the temper of Caesar—do you take my advice and be careful and less ambitious in your business—take your wares to a safer market.’ CHAPTER XX. When the sun flashed upon the white walls of the palace next morning, Masthlion was still upon his pallet bed, much in the same posture as when Zeno had left him. Indeed, the cramped space of the cell gave not much opportunity for movement. He was free to enter the servants’ hall, to eat at their table, and otherwise to amuse himself within the limits of the villa; but he had remained in his narrow retreat heedless of all.