“What a stroke of fortune!” raved the philosopher.  “How we will be revenged on that rascal, Pratinas!  O Destiny, thy decrees are just!”

Again Agias expostulated, and at last brought out of Pisander a tolerably coherent account of the conversation which he had heard between Valeria and Pratinas.  Then, indeed, the merry slave-boy was troubled.  Accustomed to a rather limited ambition in life, he had attached himself with implicit devotion to Cornelia; first because his preserver, Drusus, had so enjoined him, and second because each day he grew more drawn to her personally.  The peril which yawned before the unfortunate Drusus menaced at the same time the happiness of his mistress and his own welfare,—­for if Lucius Ahenobarbus had his way, Agias himself would become the slave of that not very gentle patrician.  Cornelia and Drusus had had troubles enough before; but in the present crisis, actual destruction stared Agias’s saviour in the face.  The situation was maddening, was sickening.  Agias wrung his hands in anguish.  Then came the healthy reaction.  Drusus was still alive and well.  He could be warned.  The plot could be thwarted.  Pratinas and Ahenobarbus were not yet beyond the reach of retribution.  He—­Agias—­was no longer to be a mere foot-boy and lackey; he was to match his keen Greek wits in subtle intrigue against foemen worthy of his steel.  He would save Drusus’s life, would save Cornelia’s happiness.  If he succeeded, who knew but that his owner would reward him—­would give him freedom.  And with a natural rebound of spirits, Agias’s eyes glittered with expectation and excitement, his cheeks flushed, his form expanded to a manly height.

“Euge! Well done, old friend!” he cried, with the merriment of intense excitement.  “No matter if you say you were only able to hear a small part of what our dear fellow-Hellene, Pratinas, told Valeria.  I have gathered enough to defeat the plotters.  Leave all to me.  If you learn anything new, send word to the house of Lentulus Crus, and ask to see me.  And now I must forsake this pleasant wine untasted, and hurry away.  My mistress will bless you, and perhaps there will be some reward.”

And leaving the bewildered Pisander to wipe the wine from his dress, Agias had darted out of the tavern, and was lost in the hurly-burly of the cattle-market.

How Agias had forced his way into Cornelia’s presence we have related.  The young Greek had stated his unpleasant intelligence as diplomatically and guardedly as possible; but Cornelia had borne this shock—­following so soon upon one sufficiently cruel—­grievously enough.  After all, she was only a girl—­perhaps more mature for her years than the average maiden of her age of to-day, but almost friendless, hopeless, and beset with many trials.  And this new one was almost more than she could bear.  We have said that to her suicide had but just before appeared a refuge to be desired; but to have Quintus die, to have him