Masthlion re-entered bearing a small bundle neatly and tightly bound. He untied and unrolled the package on the table.
‘There, Cestus!’ he said,—‘there are the self-same things which she had about her when you left her here. They have been carefully kept.’
The small eyes of the Suburan flashed with joy as they rested on the contents. He lifted them up one by one and examined them. They consisted, as the potter said, of the tiny garments of a child two or three years old; and, in addition, there was a small bag of soft leather, not larger than the girth of a small-sized walnut, to which was attached a fine steel chain to encircle the neck. Pouncing on the bag Cestus extracted a carved amulet of polished stone. His face fairly beamed with delight as he gazed. ‘Good!’ he said, as he replaced the stone, and put the bag carefully away in his breast, ‘this is of the highest importance; taken together with yourself and Tibia they are enough for what I want. And now to let you into the secret. In the first place, Masthlion, that rare piece of womankind who is dreaming of her lover upstairs, owes her life directly to me, the rough bear, whose face she declined to profane her pretty lips with.’
‘Her life!’ exclaimed the potter.
‘Nothing less, kinsman,’ continued Cestus. ‘The same Balbus [pg 201]whom you knew as my master, was a man of great estates and wealth. I acted as a kind of bailiff for him in Rome, and feathered my nest very fairly indeed. There was a kinsman of this Balbus, a young man, and not very well off as regards worldly goods. In the course of events this person and myself had grown to be very intimate and confidential over various little matters in which I had served him on the sly. He was well born, well spoken, and well dressed—a gentleman born and bred; but, at heart, as great a scamp as any footpad and cut-throat that haunts the roadside. Being only very moderately supplied with money, in his own right, his mind very naturally dwelt upon the enormous amount which flowed annually into the coffers of his kinsman, old Balbus, my master. It is a weakness of human nature, Masthlion, for a poor man to speculate concerning a rich kinsman. But this youngster had a subtle brain beyond his years, and was not content to speculate. To wait on chance, in his case, was, in all probability, to wait and be no better; for, had he even been the next heir, his kinsman, Balbus, although got into years, was hale and hearty, and as tough as leather. That was bad enough; but what made it worse for his hopes, he was not the direct heir. There was one life between him and what he schemed for. That one was all the more closely and tenderly watched because it was all that my old master Balbus had left him. Of all his family nothing remained to him but this one life—a daughter’s daughter; the mother, the last of his children, had died in giving it birth, and he was left, like an old oak, with this young slip budding beside him. That young slip, as I sit here before you, Masthlion, is the girl who calls you father.’
The potter sat still. His gaze was concentrated with painful intensity on the speaker. His fingers clenched the table like a vice, and his breast heaved and fell in a tumult of emotion.
‘You can easily supply the rest,’ continued Cestus.
Masthlion nodded without speaking, and his head fell on his breast. His heart swelled to bursting. He dare not trust himself to open his mouth to utter a sound. If this was true, and he felt it was, the figure of his Neæra’s grandparent rose in his mind’s eye—a haughty, stern, and aristocratical old man, extending a proffered reward and polite thanks with a lofty condescension which could not be mistaken for any[pg 202]thing but a final dismissal; and there, beside him, the child herself, in her rich robes, seeming too full of delight at the novelty and pleasure of her new position to think very seriously of her separation from the old. He pictured himself refusing the proffered gold, and turning away to go back to his desolate and darkened hearth, far away and forgotten for ever.
His fancy was warm, and his sensibilities as keen as a sensitive woman’s. The probability of such a scene as this, which leaped so swiftly and vividly across his brain, was almost too much for his nature to bear. His throat pained him, and the water seemed to burn its way into his eyes; so he sank his head gradually lower until his brow rested on the table.
‘Well, the rest comes naturally enough after what I have said,’ continued Cestus, seemingly taking no heed of his companion. ‘The young man I speak of could act the hypocrite to a nicety. He was clever-tongued, sociable, and took great pains to make himself agreeable to his kinsman, old Balbus, who was, in many things, as simple as a child, so that they were always very great friends and companions, which was a great help to the plan which had to be carried out. It was very simple, and the first step was, as I need hardly tell you, the making away of the child which stood in his path. I know I cannot set myself up as a model of a man, but what follows will show that my heart was considerably softer in the grain than this young serpent’s, which, if it exists at all—which I doubt—is like granite. It was bad enough to rob the old man of the only brat remaining, for he was so wrapped up in it—used to sport with it and tend it like a woman, and was scarcely able to allow it out of his sight. You remember the child then, potter—a yellow-haired big-eyed youngster, and enough to make a fool of any man who cared for such toys. Well, kinsman, I take no credit to myself for the part I acted. No doubt it was rascally enough, but I have no doubt in my mind whatever, that what I did, although unconsciously, was the means of saving the girl’s life and position. Had I refused the temptation of his bribe, some other tool would have taken my place, and would have carried out his instructions to the letter, which were to strangle the youngster, drown it, cut its throat, smother it, or anything to silence it for ever.’