‘Mad—no!’ shouted Cestus; ‘had they taken a madman’s advice all would have been well now, and the wench on her way to her people in Rome. She is no potter’s child, for I hold the proofs. There was money paid, I tell you, to put the child out of the way; but instead of murder she was brought here quietly and no one the wiser, save the woman there, who has passed for her mother—no, not even the villain who was at the bottom of it all.’ Martialis strode over to Tibia and laid his hand on her shoulder. ‘Mother,’ he said, ‘have you heard this?’ ‘Yes,’ said the poor woman, looking up with her woe‐stricken face, ‘I never had a child of my own.’ His eyes softened, and suddenly bending down, he pressed his lips against her withered forehead. She burst into an agony of tears. ‘Bring her back—bring her back,’ she moaned. ‘It is too strange; but gentle or simple she is still Neæra to me. Oh, the accursed tyrant—I shall bury my dagger in his foul heart if she be harmed—even if they rend me in pieces after! But I may yet save her, though I strike her dead to do it—yes, I may yet be in time!’ He laughed a short dry laugh, and his eyes shone with a terrible light as he flung his long heavy cloak aside, the less to impede his motions. ‘Tell Caesar she belongs to the best blood in Rome,’ said Cestus. ‘He will not dare to harm her—I will hasten to the city.’ ‘He recks of nothing, idiot—her family, quick!’ ‘Fabricius of the Janiculum is her grandsire—she has only him.’ ‘Fabricius! He lost a child—is this true?’ ‘As you stand there!’ ‘And how came you to know all this?’ ‘Simply because it was I who stole her as a child and brought her here—she knows.’ Cestus nodded to Tibia. ‘Dog, if this be true!’ cried Martialis, springing on him and grasping his throat with a hand of iron. ‘That you shall see,’ choked and sputtered Cestus. ‘It is likewise only I who can restore her. You are losing time—save her first and the rest will follow.’ ‘Villain, what demon possessed you to do such a heartless deed?’ ‘Money!—and now I would bring her back to the living for revenge—glorious revenge!’ ‘On whom?’ ‘That is my concern, and mine only. Come, haste, Centurion!’ Without further parley Martialis sprang to the door. ‘Hark’ee,’ said Cestus, again catching his arm, ‘there is one man who must never know what I have told you until the proper time arrives, or else it might go hard with the girl. Beware, therefore!’ He whispered in his ear and the Pretorian started with surprise. Then he dashed down the stairs and out of the house. CHAPTER XXIII. Martialis, who, as the reader may have perceived, was returning from Rome, made his last change of horses in the town, an operation which his feverish haste contracted to the limits of a very few minutes. Leaping on the back of the fresh steed he clattered through the narrow streets, and, on gaining the open, moonlit road, flew along at a frightful speed.