w."

"Yes, they marry only for money!" cried Herculanus wrathfully. "I am
poor; the girls all shun me--"

The Tribune was about to answer, but only laughed and drank his wine.

"Although I am nearly thirty years younger than my uncle! Fathers,
mothers, guardians, nay, even the forward girls themselves, all cajole
him, till I can scarcely warn and guard enough."

"That's the way the bee-keeper guards the honey from the mice," growled
the Illyrian under his breath.

"My nephew is perfectly right. A friend of mine, Erminiscius, a rich
merchant who deals in gems, fifty years old, married a girl of twenty.
A week after, she disappeared with all his antique jewels and--his
youngest freedman. Another, Euronius, a large owner of vineyards,
somewhat older, married a young widow of twenty-five; that is--he was
married by her; for she did not rest until she had him. Even before the
wedding he was obliged to make his will; she dictated it to him word
for word. He died at the next kalends--violent colic. I did not like it
at all; I hate colic! And so many wild cherries grew close by his
garden! You ought to see how much this double widow enjoys life now.
She once paid me a visit--she is very beautiful and was bewitchingly
amiable to me; but I thought of the dead Euronius's colic, and escaped
unwedded. I don't imagine in all cases an elopement or a wild-cherry
cake; every one is neither a Helena nor a Locusta. Suspicion is not
usually one of my faults."

"Rather the contrary," observed Saturninus.

"But, I confess it, my gray hairs make me distrustful. I should be so
unhappy--Apollo's richest laurels would not heal the wound--if I were
forced to believe that I had been married only for the sake of my
wealth. I do not deserve it."

"No indeed, you do not," cried the Tribune, pressing his hand warmly.
"Your heart is tender, kind, and frank. Whoever feigned love for the
sake of your money would be contemptible. And I hope that you may yet
see a band of children playing around your knees in the beautiful villa
gardens on the flowery shores of your beloved Garumna."

Ausonius smiled. The picture seemed to please him. Then his eye met the
glance of his nephew, who seemed to be gazing into the distance less
complacently. "Don't be uneasy, Herculanus," he said. "Even if it
should be so, my will would not forget you. And your creditors," he
added, smiling compassionately.

"Will! What an ill-omened word! Far be it," cried the youn