"I tell thee make him to let me go! He is a beast, and I hate him—I hate him!"
Rather than prolong the scene before a slave, Marius let her go. She ran to Nicanor and caught his arm.
"Take me away!" she cried through tears. "I will not stay with him!"
"It were best that you should go," Marius agreed promptly. "As for you, fellow—"
"He shall come with me!" Varia said imperiously. "You will harm him—I will not have him stay. Go yourself, bad man!"
"There will be no harm done, my lady," Nicanor said gently. There was all possible respect in his voice, but Varia went, obedient, with a last look backward on the threshold. Marius turned upon Nicanor.
"Now, who are you?" he asked curtly.
"You see me—a slave," Nicanor made reply. His voice was sullen; he was cornered, and he knew it. Also he was powerless, unable to strike a blow in his own defence; and who would see that justice was done a slave?
Marius sat down on the couch and eyed him. Nicanor returned his gaze with watchful eyes alert for any move.
"I have seen your face before!" Marius said suddenly, awaking to a consciousness of the fact. Nicanor answered nothing. The two eyed one another in silence, neither yielding an inch, the Roman coldly haughty, the slave always watchful.