Fabricius was so overcome with extreme joy that he could not reply for some moments. At last, in tremulous tones, he said, ‘It is her mother’s picture—done before her marriage—not long before. If she be like this, then I shall know the child, and so get my own again. O boy, what a strange working of the gods is here! That I should lose my little maid, and, after long years, you, the son of my old friend, should love her all unknowingly.’ ‘Nay, Fabricius, there is nothing strange in my loving her,’ returned Martialis; ‘it was only wonderful that I should have met her, of all women—having seen her and spoken to her, the rest followed infallibly.’ The old man smiled, and rose to go. ‘It grows late—to‐morrow I will start for Surrentum. I cannot travel as rapidly as yourself, my Lucius, and, by the time you reach Capreae, I shall have done no more than to have arrived at my journey’s end, though with two days’ start.’ ‘Farewell! Let not Cestus nor any one know of my presence,’ said the Centurion. Fabricius went away home, and on the morrow, though later than he had given orders for, he set out on the southern road, with Cestus, Natta, and a retinue of slaves. Martialis, at the end of the second tedious day, went to receive the answer to Caesar’s epistle, and, after securing it carefully, set out also on his return. On the second morning following this, about dawn, Zeno entered his cell in the villa Neptune, and found him lying fast asleep on his bed. He went away at once and reported the same to the Emperor, who himself proceeded with little delay to visit the returned prisoner. When he entered, the latter was still asleep, and received a shake on the shoulder from the Imperial hand. ‘So, you have returned,’ said Tiberius, as Martialis leapt to his feet and saluted; ‘the letter.’ Martialis ripped the cloth of his inner garment and took out the despatch. Caesar stepped aside and broke the seal, and ran his eye briefly over the contents. ‘Good!’ he said, with a brightened eye, as he rolled up the paper; ‘have you succeeded in keeping yourself unrecognised?’ ‘Perfectly well, Caesar, for anything I know to the contrary,’ replied Martialis. ‘I entered and came away from the city at nightfall, and lodged near the Porta Navalis, where there was small chance of recognition—especially in my disguise.’ ‘A savoury part to be lodged in, and, as you say, not often liable to the visits of your comrades from the opposite side of the city. You have carried out my commission perfectly well—what of your own business?’ ‘So please you, Caesar, there is little doubt as to the identity of my betrothed. It can be satisfactorily proved that she is the grandchild of Fabricius, stolen from him when she was but a child.’ ‘So much the better for you in every way—how do you propose to prove it?’ ‘As soon as you wish. Fabricius has left Rome, and should be in Surrentum ere now, with those who can give testimony.’