“Of what?” sneered Duilia, “say it out—of nobody knows what.”
“That which thou sayest, dearest father, will not sleep in my heart.”
“Domitia, when we sail at sea, we direct our course by the stars. Without the stars we should not know whither to steer. And the steering of the vessel by the stars, that is seamanship. So in life. There are principles of right and wrong set in the firmament——”
“Where?” asked Duilia. “As the Gods love me, I never saw them.”
“By them,” continued Corbulo, disregarding the interruption, “we must shape our course, and this true shaping of our course, and not drifting with tides, or blown hither and thither by winds—this is the seamanship of life.”
“By the Gods!” said Duilia. “You must first find your stars. I hold what you say to be rank nonsense. Where are your stars? Principles! You keep your constellations in the hold of your vessel. My good Corbulo, our own interest, that we can always see, and by that we ought ever to steer.”
“Father,” said the girl, “I see a centurion and a handful of soldiers coming this way—and, if I mistake not, Lamia is speeding ahead of them.”
“Well, go then, and play with the kid. Hear how the little creature bleats after thee.”
She obeyed, and the old soldier watched his darling, with his heart in his eyes.
Presently, when she was beyond hearing, he said:—