large hands.  His face was distinctively Roman.  The features were a little irregular, though not to an unpleasant extent.  The profile was aquiline.  His eyes were brown and piercing, turning perpetually this way and that, to grasp every detail of the scene around.  His dark, reddish hair was clipped close, and his chin was smooth shaven and decidedly firm—­stern, even, the face might have been called, except for the relief afforded by a delicately curved mouth—­not weak, but affable and ingenuous.  Drusus wore a dark travelling cloak,[7] and from underneath it peeped his tunic, with its stripe of narrow purple—­the badge of the Roman equestrian order.[8] On his finger was another emblem of nobility—­a large, plain, gold ring, conspicuous among several other rings with costly settings.

  [5] Rheda.

  [6] Most wealthy Romans had such a major domo, whose position was
  often one of honour and trust.

  [7] Paenula.

  [8] The second order of the Roman nobility.

“Salve!  Salve, Domine!” cried the slaves a second time, as the carriage drew near.  The young master pushed back the blue woollen curtains in order to gain a better view, then motioned to the driver to stop.

“Are you slaves of mine?” was his question.  The tone was interested and kindly, and Mago saluted profoundly, and replied:—­

“We are the slaves of the most noble Quintus Livius Drusus, who owns this estate.”

“I am he,” replied the young man, smiling.  “The day is hot.  It grows late.  You have toiled enough.  Go you all and rest.  Here, Pausanias, give them each a philippus,[9] with which to remember my home-coming!”

  [9] A Greek gold piece worth about $3.60 at the time of the story. 
  At this time Rome coined little gold.

“Eu!  Eu!  Io![10] Domine!” cried the slaves, giving vent to their delight.  And Chloe whispered to Lais:  “You were right.  The new master will be kind.  There will not be so many whippings.”

  [10] Good!  Good!  Hurrah!

But while Pausanias was fumbling in the money-bags, a new instance of the generosity of Drusus was presented.  Down a by-path in the field filed a sorrowful company; a long row of slaves in fetters, bound together by a band and chain round the waist of each.  They were a disreputable enough gang of unkempt, unshaven, half-clothed wretches:  Gauls and Germans with fair hair and giant physiques; dark-haired Syrians; black-skinned Africans,—­all panting and groaning, clanking their chains, and cursing softly at the two sullen overseers, who, with heavy-loaded whips, were literally driving them down into the road.

Again Drusus spoke.

“Whose slaves are these?  Mine?”

“They are your lordship’s,” said the foremost overseer, who had just recognized his newly come employer.

“Why are they in chains?” asked Drusus.