The tough oars bent with the mighty strokes. Each time they gripped the water the light bark seemed to leap forward, and the perspiration rolled in heavy drops from the stern brow of the rower. The exertion was terrible; but yet the powerful arms never relaxed an ounce of their strength, nor the stroke a second of its time, nor an inch of its sweep, till the bow of the boat flew round into the narrow little bay of the Marina of Capreae, and ran hard upon the pebbly beach. Dropping the oars, Martialis leaped ashore and ran up the steep path which climbed the terrace‐like ascent to the village above, leaving the astonished guardians of the landing‐place to wonder and speculate at the unusual method and haste of his arrival. To the labour of his arms now succeeded the trial of his legs, and he possessed the swiftest foot in the legion. On his left arose the conical hill, topped by the villa, in which the Prefect was established. Here he should have stopped; but neither his commander, nor the despatches he carried for him, now claimed the least thought. He doubled the base of the hill, and threaded the narrow lanes leading to the villa Jovis above, with a stride which brought him in a very few minutes close to the outer gate. Here he thought best to moderate his pace to a rapid walk, and in this gait reached the Pretorian on guard. From this man he learned that half a dozen slaves, with a female, had entered about half an hour previously. He passed on and entered the palace. Where within its fatal recesses was she hidden away? He came to a stand within the gloom of a passage, whilst fiery thoughts flashed through his mind. Beyond he could hear the sound of hurrying menials. It was Caesar’s hour for supping—what should he do? The Prefect was his friend, and his influence was great. Oh, that he had met with the wretches ere this, so that his own arm had been all to trust to! Where was the Prefect, and would he stir in his cause? It might be too late. After the supper most like would come the sacrifice. The drops burst forth on his brow in his agony of mind. If he could only discover where she was placed, it would go hard, but that cunning, or force, or both combined, would bring him to her. But which way to turn? The superstructure of the palace was itself intricate; underneath, he knew, was another subterranean labyrinth of which few had much knowledge. To follow to the bowels of the rocks was of no more consequence than to find the object of his search where he stood, since escape from either spot was hopeless without the tyrant’s will. To gain her side was now his utmost hope. Could he but clasp her in his arm, he had the means to save her unsullied and to put himself beyond the reach of vengeance. These few moments of reflection passed, during which the image of Neæra rose on his mind, in painful distinctness, with the sweet breath of her calm beauty and purity.