‘Be not so hasty to bereave us of what little consolation we have of our lives,’ added the potter.
‘The bereavement need not be so complete as you seem to think,’ said Martialis.
‘She and you in Rome, and we in Surrentum,’ sighed Masthlion; ‘the severance will be thoroughly done. But it must be, and must be faced.’
‘What binds you to Surrentum? Come to Rome—there will be greater scope for your talents, and fortune will flow in upon you.’
‘Ah, yes, father!’ cried Neæra eagerly, with delight in her eyes; ‘and then we shall be nigh—everything persuades you—you cannot say anything against it—you know you cannot!’
She caressed him, once more, in her soft, loving manner, which never failed to fill the heart of her lover with secret pleasure, but Masthlion put her off as gently as before.
‘The aging tree is not removed as easily as the young sapling,’ he said. ‘No! this is not a fate which befalls thy mother and myself alone: it follows all those who live long enough to see their bantlings grow out of childhood—others have to bear it, so must we. Go whither your duty calls you; your lives have to be moulded, ours are not so lightly altered. And when your husband weds you, child, you become of his station—we know better than to follow you, to your disparagement.’
‘You do us little honour by that speech, Masthlion,’ said Martialis; ‘had I been of such a mean mind I would never have suggested what I have done.’
‘You are both young, and cannot see as far as we older people,’ replied Masthlion.
‘I am glad of it, then, if it were to see such ignoble conduct. What say you, Neæra?’