‘Woman!’ said Tiberius, addressing himself to Tibia, ‘tell us your name and where you dwell. Speak without fear.’
‘My name is Tibia, and I dwell in Surrentum,’ answered the dame. She began in low nervous tones, and then gathering courage from the conviction of her deep injuries, she proceeded more hurriedly in a louder tone, ‘My home has, however, been ruined, and my husband Masthlion——’
‘Enough!’ interrupted the Emperor, in a harsh, sudden voice; ‘answer only the questions you are asked. Anything beyond them concerns us nothing. You are now a widow—let that suffice. How long have you dwelt in Surrentum?’
‘About twenty years.’
‘And is this girl the child of you and your husband?’
‘No; we never had a child.’
‘How then did you come by her?’
‘My brother brought her to us to foster, when she was a little child, about fifteen years ago.’
‘Was she his child?’
‘No. He said she was an orphan—the child of a fellow-workman in Rome.’