Neæra sat silent and motionless, listening as in a dream. The blood surged like a fiery flood through her veins, and then fled back as suddenly, leaving her cold and pale as death. Her mind was in a whirl, and her ideas were helplessly tossing in a hurly‐burly of confusion. It was pardonable, in the first moments of strange wonder, that her wild but vivid thoughts flew to the future. Reared amid humble associations, what a new world of hopes, ideas, and curiosity flooded her dizzying brain with sensations here indescribable. Masthlion not her father—nor Tibia her mother! Her grandfather a stranger, awaiting her even now—a noble! She was afraid already. What did it all mean? and why had she been thus treated? Now she thought she saw the reason of the unhappy restraint and mysterious trouble which had clouded their home during the sojourn of Cestus. She had been right in ascribing it in some way to his influence. She turned her eyes on Tibia, who was watching her in deep suspense. There, at least, was her mother in heart and deed, and she opened her arms to her. ‘Mother, I am bewildered! How came I to be with you my life long, if I am, as you say, the child of another—the child of great and wealthy people? Ah, but that you have told me this strange thing I could scarce believe it.’ Tibia received her with a grateful heart, and held her close while she told her the whole story. ‘It was a wicked deed that Cestus did, but he was tempted by one worse than himself,’ said she, concluding; ‘evil he was without doubt, but, to my mind, your kinsman was more to blame, for it was he who planned it. You were nothing to my poor brother till he was tempted with gold. Ah, child, do not be too hard upon him. If he did you and yours bitter wrong, remember that he preserved you when he was paid to take your life.’ ‘And this kinsman—who is he, and is he alive?’ asked Neæra, in a hushed voice. ‘I do not know—he may, or may not be. We are here for your grandsire to claim you, and you will soon know everything. When you go to Rome to live among the great people there, will you remember the poor cottage that was your home so long?’ ‘Go where I may you must still be with me,’ replied Neæra; ‘how could I forget? I was happy—oh, my poor father, if he had only lived!’ The tears of both began to flow again, and, for a long time, they remained silent and occupied with their own thoughts. They were roused by the entrance of Zeno, who summoned them to follow him. Neæra drew a sharp breath, and trembled with nervous expectation as she stood up to obey. ‘Keep near me, mother,’ she whispered, as she clutched the dame’s hand tightly; ‘and yet, for the sake of Lucius, ought I not to be glad?’