The sight of his evident agitation was too much for Neæra. [pg 179]She cast a look of perplexity and concern at her lover, and then sprang to her father’s side. As she did so there was a loud knock at the door, which opened, simultaneously, to admit a brown broad-faced man with a short stiff beard and moustache, bearing a light wallet over one shoulder, and carrying a stout walking-stick in his hand.
CHAPTER VII.
The blow, with which Domitius Afer sought to rid himself of his troublesome client, nigh the huge moonlit pile of the Circus Maximus, on the night of the attempted assassination of Fabricius, was not lacking in force, but was a trifle out of direction to prove fatal. Had the stricken man lain without attention, much longer than he did, it would have been sufficient to answer the end that Afer had in view. But it was fated that a house door hard by should open, not long after the knight had disappeared, to allow a man to pass out into the silent street. The luckless Cestus was, as described, lying in the shadow of the wall, whither his patron had dragged him. He was, therefore, directly across the very narrow sidewalk; and, the gloom of the shadow of the wall being intensified by reason of the bright moonlight adjacent, the individual we have mentioned did not perceive the body in his hurry, until he was made aware of its presence by falling over it. He straightway drew the Suburan into the light to make a more minute examination, not having succeeded in awakening any sign of consciousness. In passing his hand over the breast, his fingers met a damp, clammy matter which caused him to shiver. He held his hand in the light, and saw it was blood. The stricken man was still warm and breathing, as he thought; so he, at once, ran back to the house whence he had issued, and knocked loudly. The help of the inmates was readily obtained, and the sorely wounded man was borne inside, and laid on a bed, pending the arrival of a physician. That person came, and practised so well that Cestus recovered consciousness ere he left him.
‘Here is no matter of killing for theft,’ observed the leech to the household, gathered in concern to hear his [pg 181]dictum, ‘unless, indeed, as may be easily believed, that he was the thief. More likely a street scuffle with some night-hawks of his own feather. ’Tis a deep gash, but ill-aimed. He is a tough rogue, and will recover most likely. Had he been a good, honest citizen of worth to be deplored, he most likely would have died. But being what I take him to be, a rascal, he will come round no doubt. I am afraid, neighbour, you will never be requited for your benevolence.’
‘No matter,’ responded the master of the house, who was an elderly man, with sparse, gray hair, and a sad expression of face; ‘do your best to effect a cure, if possible; if he lives, it may perhaps prove a lesson.’
‘More likely to walk off with your valuables,’ said the physician, as he went out of the door.
‘Never could be such ingratitude,’ murmured the other; ‘even my wicked, wayward boy would scarce be so inhuman; and he has descended as low, perhaps, as this poor wretch.’
Cestus had every care paid to him, and for some days he remained in a critical state. Then he took a favourable turn for the better, and, aided by his robust constitution, very shortly became convalescent.