‘Very well, then, in consideration for the young girl, for whom I have a regard, I will give way a point from what I had determined, in order that she may not be sacrificed—otherwise your stubbornness would ruin all. If I were to bring you the clothes she wore when you lost her, even to an amulet, would you then give me the writing?’ ‘Yes, if they satisfied me as being hers.’ ‘Would you know them?’ ‘I would know the amulet.’ ‘Good—then I will bring them!’ ‘Have you not them with you?’ ‘No; but they are not far away,’ said Cestus, with a cunning grin. ‘I am not in the habit of surrendering myself so completely; but now, with the assurance of your promise, I will do what I had no intention of doing. You may send your slaves along with me if you wish.’ ‘Go alone. If you do not return I shall know that one more attempt on my credulity has failed.’ ‘A few minutes will set your doubts at rest,’ replied Cestus, and he left the room. As soon as he was gone, the patrician poured out some wine, with a trembling hand, and drank it to brace his aged frame against the nervous tremor which possessed it. His agitation would not allow him to rest, so he wandered up and down the apartment. Once or twice he listened at the door which stood ajar, and, whilst doing so, heard the sound of returning steps. It was his visitor returning with Natta at his side. Both entered as before, but the suspicious steward again received the sign to withdraw. Cestus advanced to the table, beside which Fabricius has reseated himself, and laid thereon a bundle, carefully wrapped up and tied. ‘These are the traps,’ he said, and proceeded to open the parcel. Taking out the tiny garments of a child he displayed them on the table. The old man, with a strange inarticulate cry, seized them in his hands, and examined them with a devouring eagerness. ‘See!’ said Cestus, laying his broad finger‐tip against an embroidered mark on one of the little linen underclothes, ‘here is a mark of ownership, I take it.’ ‘Yes, yes! But the amulet!’ cried Fabricius feverishly. ‘Here ’tis,’ replied the Suburan, drawing from his bosom a little soft leather bag, having a fine steel chain attached. His companion pounced on it, and plucked out a small agate, carved into the shape of an open hand, bearing a curious symbol cut into the palm. He gazed on it for a few moments, with his wrinkled face twitching. Then he pressed it convulsively to his lips, and, sinking his head, buried his face in the child’s garments on the table, huddling them up against his silvery hairs with both arms. Cestus, anxious and impatient as he was, forbore to break the silence. At length Fabricius raised his head and spoke in a broken voice, ‘I am an old man and you must excuse my weakness, friend—the sight of these trifles tries me hard.’ ‘Drink!’ said Cestus, filling a cup; ‘there is nothing like good wine to cheer one. Forget what has passed and think on the good time that is coming to wipe it out.’