The potter went home, and after gathering a few articles of clothing and food together in a wallet, he quietly resumed work until the time came for departure. During this period Neæra glided into the workshop. A new and radiant expression beamed on her face and sparkled in her beautiful gray eyes. The delicate colour of her cheek was deeper. An unconscious smile seemed to play on her lips, as though responding to the springs of joy and hope within. The loosely‐girded tunic of coarse, poor fabric could not hide the graceful curves of her lithe figure, which promised a splendid maturity. Her household work had caused her to tuck up her sleeves, and her revealed arms and wrists gleamed white and round. Her loveliness seemed to the potter literally to bloom afresh as he glanced at her. ‘Father,’ said she, ‘you are going to Rome?’ ‘I am, child, and Silo’s felucca sails by noon at the latest,’ he answered, without raising his head. ‘You are going because of me, father?’ she continued, drawing nearer. He did not answer. ‘It is I who am sending you to Rome, father?’ ‘You have said it, child. But I shall, at the same time, satisfy a lifelong desire to see the great city; and I may be able, likewise, to pick up a hint or two from the Roman shops.’ ‘As far as I am concerned, father, you need not give yourself the trouble.’ ‘Wherefore?’ asked the potter, in doubt as to her meaning. ‘Because I can save you the journey.’ Masthlion smiled. ‘You go to seek to know whether Lucius be a true man or false,’ she continued, with animation and a heightened colour; ‘you may stay at home, for I can tell you.’ ‘And whence did you gain the knowledge I am truly in want of, child?’ he said. ‘Here!’ she answered proudly, as she laid her hand over her heart. A smile of admiration, and yet compassionate, rested on her father’s lips, as he gazed into her kindling eyes, and watched the glowing hues spread over her exquisite face. New graces, fresh nobility and dignity, unknown before, seemed to blossom forth upon the maiden beneath his wondering eyes. His acute brain comprehended the change; it was no longer the child, but the woman. ‘The foolish heart is so often mistaken, Neæra,’ he said, touched by her simple faith; ‘it would not be wise to trust entirely thereto.’ But she only shook her head. ‘Facts are against you,’ he continued; ‘how many have acted from their impulse and have lived to use their eyes and minds soberly afterwards? But no,—no more of that! I had rather try and bale the bed of the sea dry than attempt to cure a lovesick girl of her folly. Meanwhile, I shall go to Rome, as I intended, and try to satisfy my own mind, after the fashion of cold, heartless men.’ ‘You expect to come back with bad news of Lucius, and thus forbid me to think of him again.’ ‘That I never said.’ ‘No, but you think it. I warn you that you will be disappointed, and that your journey will go for nothing.’