‘In here and I will tell you,’ said Sejanus, and they entered a small room. ‘When were you in Capreae last?’ inquired the Prefect, with a lurking smile. ‘Three months ago,’ was the reply. ‘Would it be wise and politic for you to go again within a few days?’ ‘I am at present anxiously on the look‐out for merchandise; the Imperial connection is a business I would not readily lose.’ ‘A lady wishes to visit the island. I want you to escort her. You understand?’ ‘Perfectly; if it is to serve you, Prefect.’ ‘You will serve me and yourself at the same time. To you also, who are so fond of female society, she will be a most exquisite companion, since she is one of the most beautiful women in Rome.’ ‘That will be delightful. I await your instructions.’ ‘You will come to me to‐morrow at the fourth hour.’ ‘I will obey.’ Sejanus took him by the arm and whispered in his ear. The eyes of Tigellinus sparkled. ‘Well, what think you?’ said the Prefect. ‘I am astonished, bewildered, enraptured. It is mysterious and glorious! Your lordship must tell me more.’ ‘To‐morrow, Tigellinus, to‐morrow! Farewell! I need not warn you to be secret.’ Sejanus, thereupon, went swiftly away from the reeking abode, and left the man Tigellinus in the doorway bowing to the ground. CHAPTER XI. When the Centurion Martialis came to the rescue of the endangered palanquin of Plautia, he was leisurely pursuing his way toward the Janiculum, to redeem his promise given to Fabricius. The little incident which befell him, as described, soon ceased to occupy his mind. He reached the villa of Fabricius, and admired the far‐reaching prospect which it commanded—from the city, at its foot, to the distant, circling Apennines. At the bare mention of his name, Natta, the ancient porter, ushered him direct to the presence of his master, with unmistakable signs of pleasure. The visitor’s fame had evidently preceded him. Fabricius was in his winter room, whose windows overlooked a pleasant garden, sheltered and shaded from the cold winds. The old man scanned his visitor’s manly face and form with a swift eager look; then he stepped forward and opened his arms. ‘Welcome to my house!’ said he, embracing the Centurion. ‘It augurs well that you should have remembered an old man and redeemed your promise. I have longed for your coming.’ ‘’Tis my first leisure morning, Fabricius—you may see,’ answered Martialis, touching his toga. ‘Tell me, Centurion,’ said Fabricius earnestly, ‘for your name, on that unlucky night, seemed to awake old memories. I am a Latian born, and my patrimony lies near to Casinum. There, in the old days, when I was a lad, dwelt neighbours and old family friends of thy name—tell me, then——’ ‘I was born in Etruria, at Veii,’ said Martialis, with a smile. ‘Ah!’ said the old man disappointedly, ‘what led me to make up my mind?’