‘How many more are there of you?’
‘None—save a kinsman who dwells with us for a space—oh, tell us of my father.’
‘And where is the kinsman—is he in the house?’
‘No—no! Somewhere in the town. You are cruel in tormenting us—speak then, and say what we are to do?’
‘I have already told you. He has sent for you—he is ill, dying—so haste and come along, if you would see him alive.’
A smothered cry broke from Tibia’s lips, and Neæra turned pale.
‘Dying?’ murmured the girl, tottering back against the wall.
‘It was me he should have sent for—his wife,’ said Tibia, confronting the wily ruffian; ‘you have made a mistake surely. At any rate she shall not go.’
‘She must, and quickly.’
‘It would be impossible for a girl, as she is, to go with you now; it is my place and duty to go to my husband—she must remain.’