house of Porphyrius she had passed him in his chariot, and had admired the splendid horses which he turned and guided with perfect skill and grace.  He was scarcely three years older than herself; he was eighteen—­but in spite of his youth and simplicity he was not unmanly; and there was something in him—­something that compelled her to be constantly thinking of him and asking herself what that something was.  Old Damia’s instructions troubled her; they took much of the charm from her dream of being loved by Marcus, clasped in his arms, and driven through the city in his chariot.

It was impossible—­yes, quite impossible, she was sure—­that they should have parted forever; as she sat, thinking still of him and glancing from time to time at the toiling carpenters, a boat pulled up at the landing close to the barge out of which jumped an officer of the imperial guard.  Such a handsome man! with such a noble, powerful, sunburnt face, a lightly waving black beard, and hair that fell from under his gold helmet!  The short-sword at his side showed him to be a tribune or prefect of cavalry, and what gallant deeds must not this brilliant and glittering young warrior have performed to have risen to such high rank while still so young!  He stood on the shore, looking all round, his eyes met hers and she felt herself color; he seemed surprised to see her there and greeted her respectfully with a military salute; then he went on towards the unfinished hulk of a large ship whose bare curved ribs one or two foremen were busily measuring with tape and rule.

An elderly man of dignified aspect was standing close by, who, as Dada had already discovered, was the head of the ship-yard, and the warrior hastened towards him.  She heard him say:  “Father,” and in the next instant she saw the old man open his arms and the officer rush to embrace him.

Dada never took her eyes off the couple who walked on, arm in arm and talking eagerly, till they disappeared into a large house on the further side of the dockyard.

“What a handsome man!” Dada repeated to herself, but while she waited to see him return she gazed across the lake by which Marcus might find his way to her.  And as she lingered, idly dreaming, she involuntarily compared the two men.  There were fine soldiers in plenty in Rome, and the ship-builder’s son was in no particular superior to a hundred others; but such a man as Marcus she had never before seen—­there could hardly be such another in the world.  The young guard was one fine tree among a grove of fine trees; but Marcus had something peculiar to himself, that distinguished him from the crowd, and which made him exceptionally attractive and lovable.  His image at length so completely filled her mind that she forgot the handsome officer, and the shipmaster and every one else.

ETEXT EDITOR’S BOOKMARKS: 

Christian hypocrites who pretend to hate life and love death
He may talk about the soul—­what he is after is the girl
Love means suffering—­those who love drag a chain with them
To her it was not a belief but a certainty
Trifling incident gains importance when undue emphasis is laid