‘What troubles you, fellow?’ said Tiberius, in harsh tones; ‘have you not a daughter to send hither?’
‘So please you, Caesar, and this noble lady, I have a daughter, and I am grateful for the gracious favour you propose for her; but for her to leave me would be to take from my life the only joy and consolation it has left, since the hopes of my work have been destroyed.’
‘Tush! This is the way that the maudlin childishness of old age speaks, and not the common-sense words of hale and hearty manhood. The lady has need of her—it will be to the benefit of the girl, and she will be nigh at hand for your occasional visits.’
‘The noble lady will not deal so hardly with us,’ said Masthlion; ‘she will not insist on removing from our poor home the only light it possesses?’
‘My service will be easy and pleasant, and the girl will be happy—you distress yourself without reason,’ said Plautia, with singular satisfaction at the unexpected turn things had taken.
‘Enough,’ said Tiberius, ‘it is settled. It is the bare idea which frightens you—you will grow wiser on reflection. Now go—you will receive your instructions to-morrow.’
Masthlion seized upon a last thought which struck his mind, and, instead of obeying the command, fell on his knees.
‘Pardon, Caesar, but it cannot be—this daughter, as I have called her, is not my own begotten child. Those, to whom she belongs, still live, and it is beyond my power to dispose of her, whether I would or no.’
‘It matters nothing,’ said Tiberius ironically; ‘refer them to me—who are they?’
‘I know them not, save that they are noble and wealthy and dwell in Rome,’ said Masthlion wildly.