‘Enough!’ interrupted the Emperor, in a harsh, sudden voice; ‘answer only the questions you are asked. Anything beyond them concerns us nothing. You are now a widow—let that suffice. How long have you dwelt in Surrentum?’ ‘About twenty years.’ ‘And is this girl the child of you and your husband?’ ‘No; we never had a child.’ ‘How then did you come by her?’ ‘My brother brought her to us to foster, when she was a little child, about fifteen years ago.’ ‘Was she his child?’ ‘No. He said she was an orphan—the child of a fellow‐workman in Rome.’ Afer shrugged his shoulders, and glanced toward Fabricius, who was gazing intently and unmoved upon the females. ‘Has she remained with you ever since?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘Have you always led her to believe she was really your own child? Did she never discover that she did not belong to you?’ ‘She was never told till a few minutes past in this house.’ ‘Did you never know of this before, maiden?’ ‘No.’ ‘Did your brother never visit her, woman?’ ‘We never saw him again until a few weeks back. We thought he must be dead, never having even heard of him.’ ‘You then thought of the child as your own?’ ‘We never thought she would be taken from us again, and we looked upon her as our own.’ ‘What brought your brother back again after so long a silence?’ ‘He had had a bad illness in Rome, and he came to Surrentum for change and fresh air to help him to get better.’ ‘Why did he not come to see the child, or at least send to learn of her welfare during all those years?’ ‘I cannot tell. He said he knew she was in good keeping.’ ‘And did not you or your husband ever think proper to communicate with this brother of yours respecting the child he had left in your charge, since he himself was so careless of her?’ ‘Not until a few weeks ago, when my husband went to Rome to seek him, but never found a trace of him.’ ‘Why did he go, then, at last?’ ‘It was when she was asked in marriage,’ said Tibia, with hesitation. ‘My husband thought it was his duty to tell my brother, but he could not find a trace of him.’ ‘Then after this your brother arrived at Surrentum of his own accord?’ ‘Yes; he was weak and thin.’ ‘Did he give you no account of himself for the time he had been silent?’ ‘No.’ ‘Did he tell you anything further concerning the girl?’ The dame’s head sank gradually. ‘Speak, good woman,’ said Fabricius; ‘no harm shall come of it.’ ‘He said,’ Tibia continued, in a low voice, ‘that he told a lie when he came first with the child. She was not the child of a fellow‐workman, but was nobly born, and had been stolen.’ ‘Of course,’ said Afer ironically. ‘From whom, then, did he say she had been taken?’ ‘From one called Balbus, a wealthy man; but he said this to deceive us—I know now there is no such person.’