That Great Man.
For a few moments there was utter silence, Cracis looking as if stunned, and a slight colour beginning to appear in the visitor’s pallid cheeks as he stood gazing at Marcus’ father, waiting for him to speak, while Cracis after catching his son’s wrist and snatching him back, and without taking his eyes from their visitor, found words at last to speak.
“Are you mad, boy?” he exclaimed, hoarsely. “Do you know who this is?”
“No, father,” cried the boy, passionately, “only that he is a man who has dared to speak ill of you.”
“Ah!” said Cracis, slowly, and with his face softening, as he pressed the boy’s arm; and then, in a voice full of dignity and pride: “May I ask why Caius Julius has condescended to visit my humble home?”
“I have come as a friend, Cracis,” was the reply.
“To continue your old enmity, and in mine absence revile me to my son?”
“Revile? Nonsense!” cried his visitor. “It was by accident. I came, and found you away, and reviled you?—no! I was but speaking to try your brave and spirited boy. I never for a moment thought that he would fire up as he did with all his father’s spirit and readiness to resent a wrong.”
“Indeed?” said Cracis, coldly.
“Indeed,” replied the visitor. “Only a few minutes ago I was telling your boy how that once we were the greatest of friends. Did I not?” he said quickly, turning to Marcus.