tood listening for a few moments, to satisfy himself that it
was only his father's servants talking together, their subject being
their master's going away.

"Oh," he said, impatiently, "they don't think about me, any more than
old Serge does. But he might have given me a thought and come and said
a word or two to show that he was sorry for my disappointment.

"But no; he wouldn't," continued the boy, with a sigh. "I suppose
people in trouble are always selfish, and he thinks his trouble a bigger
one than mine. Never mind. I won't be selfish. I'll go and speak to
him, just a few kind words to let him see that I am sorry for him, and
then--Oh, it's very miserable work, and what a difference father could
have made if he would have listened to me--and that Julius too.

"Caius Julius! Yes, of course, I have heard about him, but it never
troubled me--in fact I hardly knew there was such a man in the world--
the greatest man in Rome, a mighty soldier and conqueror, old Serge said
more than once; but I never took any notice, for it seemed nothing to do
with me. Oh, who could have thought that in a few short hours there
could be such a change as this!"

The boy turned off, crossed the court again, and made his way to Serge's
den, where all was still and dark as the part of the building he had
just quitted.

"You here, Serge?" he cried, cheerily, thrusting open the door. "Where
are you? What have you been doing all this time?"

Marcus' words sounded hollow and strange, coming back to him, as it
were, and startling him for the moment.

"Are you asleep?" he shouted, loudly, as if to encourage himself, for an
uncomfortable feeling thrilled him through and through.

"Oh, what nonsense!" he muttered. "Not likely that he would be asleep;
he'd have heard me directly and sprung up. Where can he be?"

The boy thought for a few moments, and then hurried out towards the farm
buildings and sheds, but stopped short as another thought struck him,
and he made at once for the dark building with its stone cistern where
the grapes were trodden.

The door was ajar, and he stepped in at once.

"You here, Serge?" he cried; and this time there was an answer, but it
was made by the dog, which approached him fawningly and uttered a low,
whining, discontented howl.

"Oh, get out! I don't want you," cried Marcus, angrily; and he turned
to leave the place, but his conscience smote him and he stooped down and
began patting the gre