‘These are the traps,’ he said, and proceeded to open the parcel. Taking out the tiny garments of a child he displayed them on the table.
The old man, with a strange inarticulate cry, seized them in his hands, and examined them with a devouring eagerness.
‘See!’ said Cestus, laying his broad finger-tip against an embroidered mark on one of the little linen underclothes, ‘here is a mark of ownership, I take it.’
‘Yes, yes! But the amulet!’ cried Fabricius feverishly.
‘Here ’tis,’ replied the Suburan, drawing from his bosom a little soft leather bag, having a fine steel chain attached.
His companion pounced on it, and plucked out a small agate, carved into the shape of an open hand, bearing a curious symbol cut into the palm.
He gazed on it for a few moments, with his wrinkled face twitching. Then he pressed it convulsively to his lips, and, sinking his head, buried his face in the child’s garments on the table, huddling them up against his silvery hairs with both arms.
Cestus, anxious and impatient as he was, forbore to break the silence.
At length Fabricius raised his head and spoke in a broken voice, ‘I am an old man and you must excuse my weakness, friend—the sight of these trifles tries me hard.’
‘Drink!’ said Cestus, filling a cup; ‘there is nothing like good wine to cheer one. Forget what has passed and think on the good time that is coming to wipe it out.’