As she said this, she wound her arms caressingly round his neck, and then slipped from the room. Masthlion’s eyes dulled, as though a reflected gleam had vanished, and, heaving a sigh, he meditatively pursued his work. It was about an hour before noon when a young urchin made his appearance with a message from Silo, to hasten him on board, without delay. He went, accompanied by his wife and Neæra; and as soon as he set foot on board the coaster, his impatient friend cast off and hoisted sail. The fair wind blew, and Silo, the sturdy skipper, was thoroughly amiable. A fair wind and a good cargo, homeward bound, would render even a nautical Caliban gracious. Next morning they passed round the long mole, or breakwater, of the port of Ostia, which lay at the mouth of the Tiber, and, thereon, Masthlion’s eyes noticed a tall soldierly figure, standing and evidently watching them keenly. Beneath the closely wrapped cloak the surprised potter recognised the proportions and carriage of his daughter’s lover, and was even close enough to make out, or fancy he did, the young man’s features, beneath his polished crested helmet. Assuring himself on this point, the potter shrank farther within the cover of the poop‐house, until all danger of recognition had passed. Toward evening they arrived at their destination, which was the emporium of Rome, situated under the shadow of the Aventine Mount. Thus the Surrentine found himself, at once, in the midst of one of the busiest localities of the imperial city. Wharves lined the river, and warehouses extended along the banks. Here were the corn, the timber, the marble, the stone, the thousand species of merchandise from the ends of the earth landed and stored. And hither, to the markets, assembled the buyers and sellers thereof. The air was full of the noise and bustle on shore and ship. Waggons rumbled and clattered to and fro, and weather‐beaten seamen abounded. Through the maze Silo guided Masthlion, whose provincial senses were oppressed and weighted by the unaccustomed roar and bustle into which he had been suddenly plunged, and the shipmaster, with amused glances at his wondering companion, hurried him along the river‐side, nearly as far as the Trigeminan Gate. Here, not far from the spot where stood the altar of Evander, the oldest legendary monument of Rome, the sailor entered a tavern. It was an old building, with the unmistakable evidences of a substantial reputation; for it was well filled with customers, and was alive with all the bustle of a flourishing business. To the hard‐faced, keen‐eyed proprietor of this establishment, who greeted Silo with familiarity, the shipmaster presented his friend, in need of comfortable lodgings for a time, and having seen him comfortably bestowed, returned to the business of his coaster and cargo.