“Yes, without doubt, but what will that justice be? Titus issued an edict. Have you ever known him to go back upon his edicts, even to save a friend? Titus declared throughout his own camps those Romans who were taken prisoner by the Jews to be worthy of death or disgrace, and two of them, common men and cowards, have been publicly disgraced in the eyes of Rome. You were taken prisoner by the Jews and have returned alive, unfortunately for yourself, to incur the dislike of Domitian, who has raked up a matter that otherwise never would have been mooted.” “Now,” he says to Titus—“Show justice and no favour, as you showed in the case of the captive Pearl-Maiden, whom you refused to the prayer of your only brother, saying that she must be sold according to your decree. Even if he loves you dearly, as I believe he does, what, my lord Marcus, can Titus answer to that argument, especially as he also seeks no further quarrel with Domitian?” “You said you came to show me a way to safety—yet you tell me that my feet are set in the path of disgrace and death. Must this way of yours, then, be paved with gold?” “No,” answered Saturius drily, “with pearls. Oh! I will be plain. Give up that necklace—and its wearer. What do you answer?” Now Marcus understood, and a saying that he heard on the lips of Miriam arose in his mind, though he knew not whence it came. “I answer,” he said with set face and flashing eyes, “that I will not cast pearls before swine.” “A pretty message from a prisoner to his judge,” replied the chamberlain with a curious smile. “But have no fear, noble Marcus, it shall not be delivered. I am not paid to tell my royal master the truth. Think again.” “I have thought,” answered Marcus. “I do not know where the maiden is and therefore cannot deliver her to Domitian, nor would I if I could. Rather will I be disgraced and perish.” “I suppose,” mused Saturius, “that this is what they call true love, and to speak plainly,” he added with a burst of candour, “I find it admirable and worthy of a noble Roman. My lord Marcus, my mission has failed, yet I pray that the Fates may order your deliverance from your enemies, and, in reward for these persecutions, bring back to you unharmed that maiden whom you desire, but whom I go to seek. Farewell.” Two days later Stephanus, the steward of Marcus who waited upon him in his prison, announced that a man who said his name was Septimus wished speech with him, but would say nothing of his business. “Admit him,” said Marcus, “for I grow weary of my own company,” and letting his head fall upon his hand he stared through the bars of his prison window. Presently he heard a sound behind him, and looked round to see an old man clad in the robe of a master-workman, whose pure and noble face seemed in a strange contrast to his rough garments and toil-scarred hands. “Be seated and tell me your business,” said Marcus courteously, and with a bow his visitor obeyed.