Martialis awoke, or rather came gradually to consciousness, next morning, with a dull torpor weighing on him like lead, and a brain confused and racking with pain. Zeno’s sleeping potion, whatever it was, had been mixed with a liberal hand. Memory came slowly back through the stupor which clogged his senses, and he instinctively felt for the despatches of which he had charge. They were there all right, and he turned his heavy aching head toward the little table. A jug stood thereon along with the victuals he had left untouched the night before. To his joy he found it had been replenished with water. His mouth was parched and his lips dry and cracked, and he drank with avidity. The grateful draught restored him vastly, and he also partook of some bread and fruit. Then lying back again on the bed he gave himself up to his poignant reflections, and awaited what should follow. He had ever the most strict injunctions to deliver papers and despatches to no one but the Prefect himself, whenever he was employed as their bearer, therefore there arose the idea in his mind, and a hope also, that his commander would be one of the first to visit him, if allowed. At any rate, captive as he was, he determined not to give up his charge to any one but the Prefect himself, or to some one authorised by the Prefect, in writing, to receive the same. Thus he might be able, perhaps, to cause his commander to visit him in person, an act he was earnestly desirous of, since he hoped to gain his influence in his behalf, and more especially in that of Neæra. Of her his mind was filled with fears and imaginings which tortured him with sufferings of suspense too deep to be described. He knew nothing of the time, whether it was night or day, since he was beneath ground; but he had been lying long awake when he heard a key put into the door. To his joy his conjectures were realised by the entrance of Sejanus. The Prefect was genuinely troubled at the situation of his favourite officer, and drew from him a detailed relation of what had occurred. ‘You were ill‐advised in being so bold and desperate,’ said Sejanus, shaking his head. ‘A calmer method would have been more politic.’ ‘I think not, though I never stayed at the time to deliberate,’ returned Martialis sternly. ‘Being too late to deliver her ere she reached this accursed place, I knew that no escape but death remained for her—therefore I gave her the means. But for a cunning trick all had been successful, and you, Prefect, would now have been lacking a Centurion and a few Pretorians.’ ‘Humph, it is better as it is, Martialis—we must have you free of this place again.’