‘Patience!’ said Tiberius, ‘let us finish. Fabricius, you have heard him confess that he decoyed you from your house, on a certain night, with a false tale about a comrade who was sick, and wished to see you, concerning your lost granddaughter—is it true, and do you recognise him?’ ‘It is true enough,’ replied Fabricius, whose horror‐stricken feelings were displayed distressingly in his voice and demeanour; ‘I seemed to remember his face again, and a thousand times, from Rome hither, have I tried to bring him more exactly to my mind. But now, as he related the occurrence, I recognised him—yes, it is the same wretch who came to me that night. His description of what occurred is perfect—it is too well graven on my mind. But for the timely appearance of the troop of Pretorians with Martialis the Centurion, the wretch would have succeeded only too well in his evil intent. This new infamy comes unexpectedly on me, Caesar, and it tries me hard——’ ‘Wine, and a seat for Fabricius,’ said Tiberius; and the attendants flew to obey. ‘Am I to bear this? Am I to listen to this’—broke in Afer. ‘Peace, I say,’ said Tiberius; ‘drink and rest, Fabricius.’ The old senator drank the wine the attendants brought for him, and sank with trembling limbs into the chair they placed for him. ‘If what you have told us is true, Suburan,—and it is scarcely credible you would invent a tale to incriminate yourself to such a degree,—then your actions bring you within the reach of the rods of the lictors, and of the cord,’ resumed Tiberius, ‘but due attention shall be given to this at a proper time. What concerns us now is the identity of the child. Give us, therefore, the proofs that she is what you assert her to be.’ ‘I have, already, given them to the noble Fabricius, so please you,’ said Cestus. ‘My slave bears them—bring them hither, Natta!’ said Fabricius. The steward came forward before Caesar with the package of child’s garments, and displayed them to Tiberius on bended knee, whilst Fabricius attested them—particularly the amulet. ‘Come hither, woman,’ said Tiberius to Tibia; ‘do you know these things?’ ‘They are what the child wore when she came to us—we took them off and kept them.’ ‘They are not the dress of a poor man’s child. Did such a thought not strike you when you saw them at first.’ ‘Yes; I asked him how she came by them, and he said her father had been very poor, so poor that a rich family had befriended him out of charity, and had dressed her in some cast‐off clothes.’ ‘That’s true! I told her so,’ said Cestus. ‘The memory of a liar should always be good,’ cried Afer; ‘this vagabond’s memory is only equalled by his lies—they are all of a prodigious nature. Yet I doubt if they are as monstrous as the credulity which sucks them in.’ ‘What more remains to ask these people, Fabricius? Question them if you will,’ said Tiberius.