“Yes, boy,” he said, “you may leave us now. My old friend has much to say, and I too have much to think. Go and see that proper preparations are made for our guest. You will honour us—No,” he continued, with a pleasant smile, as he turned to his guest, “we are very simple here, but you will be welcome and stay here to-night.”
“Gladly,” cried Julius, eagerly. “Believe me, I shall be proud, for I have gained my ends.”
“Not yet,” said Cracis, gravely. “It means so much, and I must have the night to think. There, Marcus, boy, you know what should be done. Leave us for a while.”
The boy hurried away, to seek the servants, and then to make for Serge, but checked himself before he was half way to his old companion’s room.
“Not yet,” he said. “How do I know that I ought to speak?” And he drew back with a feeling of relief on seeing that the old soldier was right away crossing one of the fields. “It would not have been right without speaking to my father first,” thought Marcus. “I wonder what they are saying now?”
Chapter Nine.
The Old Armour.
When Marcus went to bed his habit was to drop his head upon his pillow, close his eyes in the darkness, and, as it seemed to him, open them the next minute to find it was broad daylight, and spring out of bed; but, almost for the first time in his life, he, that night, lay tossing about, thinking how hot it was, getting in and out of bed to open the window wider or to close it again, changing from side to side, and trying as hard as he possibly could to go off to sleep; and, even when at last he succeeded, it seemed that he had suddenly plunged into a new state of wakefulness in which he was listening to Caius Julius and then quarrelling with him.