“It shall not despair,” I answered, with an energy that startled, her, hurrying out of the apartment.
I soon recollected myself.
“What have I done?” I thought, “years have rolled by, nor could I flatter myself with the hope of success even if I wandered over all the territory of Rome, and ventured to the unknown land of the barbarian.”
I now remembered that I had heard Apicius speak of some wealthy merchant residing in Berytus, who owned many galleys in communicating with the coast of Africa, but he had gone to his villa, and I was obliged to postpone my investigation.
Returning to the hall, I met Septimus, who told me the last that had been heard of Mobilius was from a Syrian merchant, who knew and accosted him hastening toward the road leading to the mountains, but with his eye riveted upon the path. He advanced with rapid strides. I then told Septimus the news his slave had brought.
“Alas! there is no longer a doubt, Servilius,” he replied, “since this is the same road on which the temple stands.”
We parted in grief, and Septimus in despair.
When first I met Mobilius there was a levity in his manner which did not please me, but since his conversations with Lactantius a noted change had been wrought in him, and the hidden virtues of his character shone unclouded.
We did not meet until we mingled at the evening tables; but no joy was there, and the silence was only broken by a loud cry from the slaves, as if something unusual had taken place. Septimus arose to ascertain the cause, when he was suddenly confronted by Mobilius, with dishevelled hair and robes. A shriek of surprise and joy burst from every tongue.
“We greet you, my dear Mobilius,” said Sergius, as he pressed his hand with parental fondness.