‘You will never come while he is here, and he may stay—oh, so long.’
‘We will see,’ he replied, smiling, as he took her in his arms again. ‘But go,’ he said, rousing himself; ‘time begins to press upon me; it will be sunset ere I reach the island. Go, bring your father.’
‘Lucius, what meant he when he said, “Not father!” in the workshop?’ asked Neæra earnestly, looking up into the soldier’s face ere she loosed herself from his embrace.
They gazed into each other’s eyes. The black piercing orbs met the lustrous gray ones, shining with their lovelight, as if to read each other’s souls, and then he shook his head.
‘I know not,’ he said; ‘it may be nothing—it may be [pg 194]something; you will discover in time, my beloved. Think no more of it.’
Neæra departed, and brought Masthlion. Martialis proceeded to impress upon him the desirability of fixing a time for his marriage with Neæra. He used all his arguments, but to no purpose, for the potter refused all negotiation.
‘In a reasonable time you shall know, but not thus soon.’
‘Good. The next time I come I will demand it,’ answered the lover, in some heat. ‘Farewell!’
Masthlion left the room, and the Centurion, as he embraced his betrothed, said, ‘Your father is unreasonable,—of what use is it to delay?’
She murmured something to appease him, and he finally tore himself away.