en; it must be time for
food. Thou canst tell that, graybeard; if thou couldst tell whether day
or night time, I'd carve an ivory figure of thee and hold all thy kind
in honor. Maybe they will forget us again, as they have forgot us
before. If so, soon I must eat thee, friend, and this will grieve me,
less for thy sake than for mine own."

"Who hath he here?" Wardo muttered in perplexity. He placed his lips to
the slit and spoke aloud.

"Nicanor!"

Instant silence fell, while one might have counted ten. Then Nicanor's
voice, keen and quiet, said:

"Who calls?"

"I, Wardo," answered Wardo, feeling for his eight-inch-long key. "I will
get my light and enter, for I have news for thee."

He got his torch, unlocked the door, and entered, locking it behind him,
for his orders were strict. The light fell upon Nicanor, sitting on the
floor, back against the wall, hands clasping his knees, and glistened in
his eyes, untamed beneath their shaggy thatch of brow. He was leaner
than ever, and his face was gaunt. He blinked uncertainly at the flare
and turned his head from it.

"I begged Hito that he let me be the one to bring thy food," said Wardo,
and spoke as one in self-excuse. "But not until to-day could I win him
to it. Now I have come to tell thee--" He hesitated; started again with
a rush of words. "Thou art sentenced to the mines, with certain others,
and I am ordered to convey thee thither."

"So?" said Nicanor.

"It seems to hold scant interest for thee!" said Wardo curiously, half
piqued.

"At this moment, little man, bread and a bone hold more of interest for
me than all the mines in Britain," said Nicanor, with a laugh. "Give me
these, and I'll show thee how much I have of interest."

Wardo found himself falling into the half ironic raillery of his
prisoner's mood.

"There should be plenty of both when this night's feasting is over. I'll
see thou hast thy share--"

"What feasting? Is it night?" Nicanor asked.

"True; I forgot thou couldst not know," said Wardo. "To-night is held
the betrothal feast of our lady and the lord Marius."

The careless figure on the floor stiffened, as it seemed, into stone as
it sat. Nicanor turned his head, slowly, and looked up at his gaoler.
The movement had in it something of the stealthiness of an animal
crouching to spring.

"Betrothed--to-night?" he muttered. The hands about his knees tightened
until their muscles strained under the brown skin; but the light was