‘Read!’ said that unhappy personage in a hollow tone. Festus obeyed. The task was brief and did not occupy many minutes. The remaining papers were found to be informal inventories of effects. Martialis bade him read them also. They were long; including, as they did, everything of value in the house. Plautia signified her impatience long before it was ended, and, during its progress, a slave entered to announce that Sabellus of the Aventine was not to be found. When the wearisome monotone of the lawyer at length ceased, Martialis raised his pale face from his hands. ‘Ah!’ exclaimed the lawyer suddenly; ‘here I find the value of the whole computed. Deducting the debts due, and a few minor bequests, the balance amounts to an estimate of ten thousand sestertia.’(3) Plautia started on her cushions at the statement. ‘What!’ she demanded, contracting her fine black brows; ‘ten thousand sestertia, free?’ ‘Absolutely, as the will expressly states,’ replied Festus. ‘The whole total reaches a huger sum, but there are debts, as before mentioned. No money is spoken of—these inventories must be realised.’ ‘Was this the poverty he fled from? Why, it is a fortune—a heaven to the greater part of mankind!’ she exclaimed. ‘Ay, but not to the mind of Apicius,’ interrupted the voice of Martialis; ‘for remember—scarce a coined piece within his coffers. Everything gone but what the walls of the house compass. Had Apicius lived it was necessary to live as hitherto. To do that he must needs have despoiled his home—the noblest in Rome—of its treasures. Rather than strike, to all, the note of disgrace and ruin, he did as he did. It was pride, not fear—it is too plain. But small or great as the remnant may seem to thee, Plautia, thou art his nearest of kin—to thee, therefore, it belongs. I have no claim but what the love of a friend has given me. I render it up—take it therefore.’ ‘A noble deed!’ quoth Festus. The glance of Plautia softened a little, and she held out her jewelled, white hand to the young man. With eyes aflame he seized it, and covered it with kisses. ‘It is truly high‐minded and generous of thee, Martialis,’ she said. ‘Take it—I need it not!’ he answered eagerly. ‘Foolish!’ she rejoined, drawing her hand away and accompanying her words with a mocking smile. ‘Bid Festus teach thee to be wiser than rob thyself.’ ‘It is a question for his own heart to decide,’ remarked the lawyer, replacing the papers in the box. ‘Festus has done his part and I will keep him no longer—say no more!’ said Martialis. The lawyer rose at this hint, and at the same moment a voice came from the doorway. Looking thither they beheld a tall cloaked figure standing in the doorway, regarding them and their surroundings with keen eyes. Martialis started. ‘Lucius!’ he exclaimed. ‘Even so, brother,’ returned the new‐comer. It was indeed the Centurion, bearing the stains of hard travel on his garments and a jaded air on his face.