CHAPTER XIII.
Away from his haunts in the Imperial city, where his wits were kept ever bright and sharp by the friction of crowded humanity, the Suburan had fallen under the lethargic influence of utter inoccupation in a comparatively lifeless provincial town. His mind, latterly, may be said to have only smouldered.
It has been seen how instantaneously and unexpectedly it was roused into high excitement and activity from a state of mere passive existence. Just as the blast of a forge-bellows kindles, in an instant, a dull smoking heap of black ashes into a glowing fiery mass, so the sight of Domitius Afer inflamed the listless spirit of Cestus.
Fearing lest he should betray some symptoms of his perturbed mind to the keen eyes around the supper-table at home, he wandered along aimlessly until the time for that meal should pass, and his thoughts become more serene. To assist the latter process he visited one or two wine-shops which crossed his random path, and fortified himself with some hearty draughts of liquor. Thence he passed on to the outskirts of the town and sought the silent roads and darkness. Here were solitude and the brooding stars, circumstances most apt for philosophising.
His ignorance of the actual position of affairs left him a prey to the most distracting surmises. It was in vain he argued and proved to himself continually, that his secret lay, for the present, safe with himself and the potter only; and that Afer could no more have any knowledge or suspicion of the girl’s identity than a bird of the air. This was assured, he said; and yet what was it that brought his quondam patron to the potter’s shop? Was it to buy? No; that [pg 255]was a mere pretence. What did he want with such wares? What he had bought he had thrown away. Even in his harassment the Suburan’s face twisted with a grin, as he recalled the scene in the shop, and the expression of the knight’s face when acquainted with the price of the vases.
The conclusion, therefore, forced itself on the mind of Cestus, and would not be dislodged, that Neæra was the object of the ominous visit. And, again, how was it, and from whom had he learnt of the existence of the girl in such an out-of-the-way corner of the town, where his foot was never likely to tread of its own accord? It was true that Masthlion had a certain reputation for his work, and that the beauty of Neæra being known, it might have reached the knight’s ears amidst other tattle. This might have prompted his curiosity; but the coincidence was too strong for the reasoner’s peace of mind, and no argument was potent to comfort him. His thoughts, restricted to such a narrow field of inquiry, writhed and twisted in torment. Then at length, exhausted and chagrined with the fruitlessness of his efforts, he gave way to a paroxysm of rage. He shook his clenched fists, and his mouth vomited the most frightful curses on the head of his treacherous patron and all appertaining to him, including the impenetrable island, whose sealed silence held him at bay. The first glimpse of his would-be murderer had aroused and added fuel to his mingled fear and detestation. This, combined with the sense of his insecurity and comparative powerlessness in his present situation, put him almost beside himself for a few delirious moments. No one passed him at this point, or they might have been superstitiously affrighted at the fierce gestures and the shrill, hissing notes of this shadowy form in the dark road.
The short frenzy, however, sufficed to purge his veins somewhat, and when its fury had fled it left him comparatively calm and collected. He became aware of an appetite which needed appeasing, and he turned his steps homeward. When he entered the house, he found that the time had flown considerably beyond his reckoning, and that the family were all in bed. He was not sorry, however, at this, and, after eating the supper which had been left standing for him, he went to bed, where his excited thoughts kept him from sleep till nigh the time when early risers were beginning [pg 256]to stir between the bedclothes, and collect their thoughts for a new day’s labour. Then indeed he slept heavily, and came down late, to find every one busy in their daily occupations—Masthlion, as usual, locked in his workshop.
Whilst eating his breakfast Neæra came in, fresh and fair as the morning itself, but with anxious thought in her lustrous, gray eyes.
‘You did not return yesterday until we had all gone to bed,’ she said. ‘It was because you are persisting in what you said about your presence being the cause of my father’s trouble of mind.’