“Well,” said Marcus, looking up, “what evil tidings have you now?” “None, none,” answered Saturius. “I have very good tidings, and that is why I run so fast. You are only banished for three years, thanks to my secret efforts,” and he smiled craftily. “Even your property is left to you, a fact which will, I trust, enable you to reward your friends for their labours on your behalf.” “Tell me all,” and the rogue obeyed, while Marcus listened with a face of stone. “Why did Titus decide thus?” he asked when it was finished. “Speak frankly, man, if you wish for a reward.” “Because, noble Marcus, Domitian had been with him beforehand and told him that if he reversed his public judgment it would be a cause of open quarrel between them. This, Cæsar, who fears his brother, does not seek. That is why he would not see you, lest his love for his friend should overcome his reason.” “So the prince is still my enemy?” “Yes, and more bitter than before, since he cannot find the Pearl-Maiden, and is sure that you have spirited her away. Be advised by me and leave Rome quickly, lest worse things befall you.” “Aye,” said Marcus, “I will leave Rome quickly, for how shall I abide here who have lost my honour. Yet first it may please your master to know that by now the lady whom he seeks is far across the sea. Now get you gone, you fox, for I desire to be alone.” The face of Saturius became evil. “Is that all you have to say?” he asked. “Am I to win no reward?” “If you stay longer,” said Marcus, “you will win one which you do not desire.” Then Saturius went, but without the door he turned and shook his fist towards the chamber he had left. “Fox,” he muttered. “He called me fox and gave me nothing. Well, foxes may find some pickings on his bones.” The chamberlain’s road to the palace ran past the place of business of the merchant Demetrius. He stopped and looked at it. “Perhaps this one will be more liberal,” he said to himself, and entered. In his private office he found Caleb alone, his face buried in his hands. Seating himself he plunged into his tale, ending it with an apology to Caleb for the lightness of the sentence inflicted upon Marcus. “Titus would do no more,” he said; “indeed, were it not for the fear of Domitian, he could have not have been brought to do so much, for he loves the man, who has been a prefect of his bodyguard, and was deeply grieved that he must disgrace him. Still, disgraced he is, aye, and he feels it; therefore I trust that you, most generous Demetrius, who hate him, will remember the service of your servant in this matter.” “Yes,” said Caleb quietly, “fear not, you shall be well paid, for you have done your best.”