‘None—save a kinsman who dwells with us for a space—oh, tell us of my father.’ ‘And where is the kinsman—is he in the house?’ ‘No—no! Somewhere in the town. You are cruel in tormenting us—speak then, and say what we are to do?’ ‘I have already told you. He has sent for you—he is ill, dying—so haste and come along, if you would see him alive.’ A smothered cry broke from Tibia’s lips, and Neæra turned pale. ‘Dying?’ murmured the girl, tottering back against the wall. ‘It was me he should have sent for—his wife,’ said Tibia, confronting the wily ruffian; ‘you have made a mistake surely. At any rate she shall not go.’ ‘She must, and quickly.’ ‘It would be impossible for a girl, as she is, to go with you now; it is my place and duty to go to my husband—she must remain.’ ‘Ah, mother, can we not both go? Where is he, and how are we to travel?’ said Neæra, pale but self‐possessed. Plautus scowled and gnawed his lip for a moment. Then he said, ‘Well, well! I admit the wife has a claim before the daughter. Go you, therefore, and get your cloak—let the girl remain by the house. All blame must be on your head.’ Tibia instantly departed into the upper rooms with the assurance that she would not be long. ‘You have not yet told us where my father is,’ said Neæra, when they were alone; ‘you are unkind, as a messenger, to those who hold him dearest. Did he send no words beyond bidding me to go—no token? Speak, for the love of the gods!’ ‘I don’t recollect, but I’ll bring in my comrade and see if he has a better memory,’ replied Plautus. He whistled and his accomplices filed in. Neæra, in great alarm, turned to dart away down the passage into the house, but Plautus dexterously placed himself in the way. At the same moment a cloak was twisted round her head, which stifled the cry on her lips. To pinion her limbs was the work of an instant, for the worthy slaves were prepared for every emergency, and made light of her struggles. Thus gagged and helpless she was borne outside. The remaining four men instantly closed the door and passed into the house, carrying the light with them. The unhappy Tibia was surprised in her room, where she was hastily collecting a few articles for her supposed journey. ‘What do you want?’ she cried, as the ruthless slaves crowded into the narrow room. They advanced toward her, and she screamed in affright at their menacing aspect. One of them rolled his eyes to his leader and half drew a knife from his belt. But no orders had been given for any further use of the weapon, and Plautus, from experience, kept to the letter of his instructions. ‘Silence, hag!’ he roared, ‘and keep your traps—you can stay and keep house since your girl has now gone. As for your husband, he doesn’t want you, for he is at the bottom of the sea, and his glass pot with him—we put him there as we came along to‐night.’