The potter shook his head.

‘Nor slept either, I daresay.’

‘I think not.’

‘In truth, you look like a man who has been sealed up in a vault for a month. What is the trouble? Is it because your business has gone amiss with Caesar, or that he scared your life half away—or both? At any rate this is not the way to mend it. I recommend meat and drink and fresh air, taking care not to breathe the latter beyond the outer gate.’

‘Thanks!’ replied Masthlion, rising; ‘you are kind. I will do as you say, and wait and hope for the freedom of these cursed walls.’

‘Hum—if you lived in them long enough you would be more guarded in your language. Your visit has not been pleasant—it is hard to have one’s expectations unduly knocked on the head—you take it to heart, and you have had an ill night of it.’

‘It has passed now.’

‘Every man to his own way. If you had tried to drown your sorrow, instead of nursing it, you would have been a better man this morning.’

‘Every man to his own way,’ said Masthlion, with a wan smile.

‘The gods be praised—mine now lies elsewhere,’ returned Zeno. ‘Mark! don’t attempt to pass the outer gate!’

So saying, he vanished, and Masthlion, after a few more minutes’ reflection, followed, to act on the recommendation of the steward, and break his long fast.

His misery of mind led him to shun, as far as possible, all intercourse with others; so, hastily swallowing a few mouthfuls of food and a hearty draught of rough wine, apart in a quiet corner, he stole out-of-doors.

The wine and the fresh morning air restored him vastly, but his condition was yet pitiable. He sought a warm sunny corner of a wall and sat down, but could not rest. Cramped by his narrow room, he had remained motionless the past night, till the acute suffering of his apprehension had produced a merciful species of drowsiness. But now, under the open heavens, and with ample space on every side, the functions of his mind resumed such activity, as to develop a painful nervous [pg 329]disorder which impelled him ceaselessly hither and thither. A wider field for reflection might have brought him relief, but that was denied him. He knew only, that one whom he loved better than his own life was in worse danger than that of death.

On this dread fact he brooded in passive agony. Like an orb of torment it pierced him with its searing flame amid encasing blackness, through which his mind struggled in vain to escape for relief. It scorched into his brain; and round and round, hither and thither, without rest, his feet wandered within the girdle of the infernal walls which imprisoned him. His was the soul of the true artist—keenly sensitive, deeply emotional—all the worse for him.

The hours passed on. Would Caesar’s commands never come to end his terrible suspense?

The vast palace, gleaming in the sun, seemed to mock him as he watched its silent entrances with feverish glances. He knew not but what his home had already been invaded. Knew! No, he knew nothing, save that he was helpless.

More than once, despair urged him to force his way into the presence of the tyrant himself and demand his freedom, or to boldly pass the outer gate and gain the fishermen’s boats. But the madness of such an act was evident even to his own wild thoughts. At every outlet a guard was lolling lazily on his spear, his gilded panoply shining in the sun. One shadowy hope there was, that Cestus might have persuaded NeÆra to proceed to Rome. But that was hoping against hope: the unhappy potter knew in his heart she would never consent. No—there she would remain until he returned, and there she would be the prey of the spoiler.

The big drops stood on his pale forehead as the agony of his mind tore him. His overloaded brain seemed to rock with a vague, hideous burden. Suddenly the sunlight brightened, as it were, into a fierce white glare. The vast fabric of the palace, with each neighbouring object, seemed to heave up round him with a motion which filled him with a deadly sickness, and caused him to spread out his arms, as if the surging masses were about to be launched upon him.

Out of the sky gigantic shapes whirled and swooped upon him; but when, as it seemed, they were on the point of crushing him, they dwindled and fled as suddenly away. His [pg 330]very brain seemed to contract and distend as rapidly in the same awful proportions. It was terrific—he strove to shout aloud in his terror, but his voice died within him, and his limbs were immovable.

The colossal masses and spheres which darted down upon him shot away again into tiny twinkling specks—so far away, into such immensity of space, that his soul shuddered with a frightful sensation at the awful gulf yawning before him. Back they came—swelling as they rushed, in the brief second of their career, like Titanic globes upon his paralysed vision. One of them took the semblance of a face, distorted and ghastly. Down it swooped in stupendous bulk, so close that his brain seemed to burst with its appalling proximity. His delirious senses saw in it a livid, grinning caricature of Caesar’s ghastly visage—he thrust out his arms at it and shrieked in terror—tottered and fell senseless to the ground.

When he recovered consciousness he found himself lying on the ground where he had fallen. A circle of faces surrounded him, and Zeno was kneeling beside him with a cup in his hand.

‘Ah, now he is coming to,’ said the Greek, as the potter gave a deep sigh and slightly opened his eyes. ‘Back, back—further back!’

The idle, gazing menials gave way, and Zeno held the cup to Masthlion’s lips. A few mouthfuls restored the potter, and he looked around. His faculties cleared, and he shuddered as his memory brought back those dread visions of his overstrained brain.

‘This comes of fasting and watching, Surrentine,’ quoth Zeno, offering him the cup again; ‘Nature is spiteful when robbed of her due.’

‘I must have fainted,’ muttered Masthlion feebly.

‘Ay, with a yell which was enough to curdle the heart of a dead man!’

‘I shall soon be all right, but I must confess to a certain weakness and dizziness.’

‘Come, these fellows shall help you to your bed.’

But Masthlion, refusing the offer, walked away unassisted, though somewhat falteringly, inside the palace to his pallet, [pg 331]whereon he stretched himself gladly, for he was not a little shaken and confused.

Zeno flung a cloak over him, and set some drink near him. Masthlion thanked him for his kindness.

‘I was bidden to take care of thee, and I dare not disobey—that is all,’ answered the other, with a grin. ‘But listen, potter, I may tell thee this much, and it is as much as I know so far, that thou art to go away before nightfall—how and in what way I know not.’

‘The gods bless you for the words,’ cried Masthlion, whose face lighted with unspeakable joy.

Zeno shrugged his shoulders, and hastened away.

The joyful intelligence appeared to pour a calm, soothing influence on the suffering man’s spirit, and, in weariness and weakness of mind and body, he fell into a profound slumber.

He seemed to have slept only a few minutes when he was aroused by a hand touching him on the shoulder. He looked up and saw Zeno once more beside him. The daylight had failed, and the little room was nearly dark.

‘How do you feel?’ asked the steward.

‘Better—I have slept.’

‘Three good hours—you are now to depart—make ready.’ Masthlion, with trembling hands, lifted his wallet from the floor.

‘I am ready,’ said he.

They went out, and the steward never spoke until they reached the outer gate.

Conversing with the soldier on guard was an individual well wrapped up in a cloak.

‘Here is your charge,’ said Zeno, addressing him.

The other nodded and ejaculated, ‘Good,’ as he bestowed a sharp glance on the potter.

‘Farewell,’ pursued the Greek to the latter; ‘I come no further, and here our acquaintance ends, I suppose. Plautus goes to the opposite shore; he will take charge of you, and has instructions to see you safely bestowed—farewell, Surrentine!’

The man called Plautus laughed. Masthlion, in his eager excitement to be gone, uttered his farewell and thanks rather hastily.