‘Enough,’ said the potter, ‘the mischief is done, it is clear, but yet the matter must rest as it is for a time. I am yet [pg 16]unconvinced, and I give not my consent so heedlessly to a partnership so brimful of hazard. I must be better assured. In the meantime, Centurion, I ask of thee one condition.’
Martialis was burning with eagerness, for his beloved now stood before him ready to his arms, with downcast eyes and cheeks blushing with sudden joy and hope.
‘Name it!’ he said quickly.
‘It is that you neither visit nor correspond with this child without my knowledge.’
‘It is no more than I have done hitherto,’ said Martialis.
‘I believe it, and it is much to your credit,’ returned Masthlion. ‘Now go, Centurion. Stand by our agreement; and may the gods direct the matter to the best end—for I need their help.’
‘Farewell!’ said the young man, reaching forward to clasp Neæra to his breast.
‘No!’ said the potter, once more stretching his ruthless arm before him.
The Centurion frowned; but the cloud fled when he saw the tender, curving lips of Neæra moving, as though silently fashioning his name, and her beautiful eyes, more beautiful still, with the light of love and hope and joy. From the divine smile on her face he drew consolation, as he grasped the earthy hand of the potter instead of hers.
With a lingering look he drew his cloak around him, and hastened away at a pace which received additional lightness and speed from his feelings. A couple of minutes more and he was galloping at a headlong speed on the road to Rome.