ith demure politeness, and forthwith
charm him into abject surrender with diabolical art. So peace would be
restored, with the combatants firmer friends than ever--until the spirit
within him moved Nicanor once more. And yet,--for this is as it always
happens,--each fresh quarrel was fiercer than the one before.

It was after one of these passages-at-arms that Nicanor, losing his
temper completely, spoke to Master Tobias as he had never dared speak
before. And then, foolishly bound to keep the last word, strode off in a
fume, out of the church grounds, through the huddle of houses and crowd
of passing folk, whose clamor put him yet more out of sorts, and down to
the river-ford. Here he paused, kicking up the earth with the toe of his
laced leather shoe, in a very evil temper, wanting only something to
vent his spleen upon. And standing thus, he heard all at once an outcry
behind him, and wheeled, and saw a thing which made him forget his
grievance and consider that after all he was more lucky in his lot than
some.

At first he saw only a crowd of men and boys, who jeered and hooted.
This was a sight not new; but in their midst he caught a glimpse of a
crested helmet and the black cloak of a slave-driver. And then the crowd
parted, and Nicanor saw a girl, a lean wisp of a thing, with burning
eyes and a gray face framed in straight black hair, with chained wrists
and a ragged frock which slipped aside to show a long red welt across
her brown shoulders. The slave-driver held the end of the chain, his
heavy whip tucked beneath one arm,--a squat man with a black and brutal
face and small hard eyes. He was appraising the girl's good points
glibly, as though of a mare to be sold,--her working strength, present
perfections, future possibilities. The soldier, wax tablets and stylus
in hand, his back half turned to Nicanor, made notes of what he said, at
intervals throwing in a comment or a question.

"From the north, you say?"

"Ay, lord, born of a Roman soldier and a British wench. A good
investment, noble sir, and the price but small,--only five-and-fifty
sestertii,--and that because I give thanks to be rid of her."

"Hath she spirit, fire? I want not a puny, slinking chit."

"Spirit--fire!" the man repeated with a curse. "If that be what you
wish, lord, it is here in very flesh. This young she-devil hath given me
as much trouble as three men."

The soldier fumbled for his pouch and counted money into the dealer's
hand