When he awoke, some hours later, a dull foggy twilight pervaded the room. The rattle of the bolts had roused him. It was his gaoler, who came in and set a freshly-filled amphora[91] down by his side; then he tilted the bowl of porridge, which Quintus had not touched, to see if the mess were yet too stiff to be eaten. After a moment’s hesitation he put it down and was leaving the room, when Quintus spoke to him. “What time is it?” he asked, sitting up. “Two hours past sunrise.” “I am very hungry; give me something to eat.” The gaoler pointed to the clay bowl without speaking. “You do not indulge in luxuries here!” said Quintus bitterly. “That is too vile food for the meanest of my slaves, nay for my dogs.” The man shrugged his shoulders. “You must get used to it. We are under the strictest orders to treat every one alike by the rules of the place, with no distinction of birth.” “Indeed--and what is the rule of the place?” “Porridge and water, with rye-bread for supper. I cannot help it, if you fine gentlemen do not relish it. We often have folks here, who are only too thankful for such food, poor wretches who have not had a morsel for days if the gifts of corn have been stopped.” “Do you know who I am?” Quintus interrupted his voluble informant. “No, I rarely get out into the world. It is a year last Feast of Saturn, since I was in the Field of Mars. But I can see by your manner that you are of some noble family.” “I am Quintus Claudius, the son of the Flamen.” “Stuff and nonsense!” said the gaoler. “Why, you were caught in a quarry with the Nazarenes.” “Quite true.” “Then you cannot be Quintus, the son of the Flamen Dialis.” “You doubt it? Did not the centurion, who took us, tell you?” “Not me--he spoke to the governor.” “To be sure. Well, you will know it too before the day is out. Now listen to what I ask. The news of my arrest can hardly yet have got to my father’s ears. And if the report reaches him, if a stranger tells him the worst, point-blank, it will kill him. No one but myself knows how to mitigate the blow to him. Will you carry him a note, only two short lines--on these wax-tablets?” “Impossible!” said the man, drawing back. “Look here--I will give you this stylus--it is of pure gold....” “If you offered, me ten times its value, I dare not. It is as much as my life is worth.” “Then take me to your superior officer.” “I cannot without leave.” “Try to get leave.” The gaoler looked doubtful; the young man’s calm, urgent manner, and his evident high breeding, impressed him greatly. “I will see what can be done,” he said, hesitatingly. “Take patience till this evening.” “Till this evening!” cried Quintus, in despair. “Miserable man, do you not understand that you are killing him. Every instant is precious, and you say: till this evening.”