ers.

Other work, however, was before Demetrius that day, than casting
glances of dutiful admiration at the stately lady that had deigned to
accept his hospitality. Out from the various other cabins, less
luxurious assuredly than the one in which Cornelia had awakened, the
pirates led their several captives to stand before the chief.
Demetrius, indeed, had accomplished what he euphemistically described
as "a fair night's work." Half a dozen once very fashionable and now
very disordered and dejected noble ladies and about as many more sadly
bedraggled fine gentlemen were haled before his tribunal for judgment.
The pirate prince stood on the raised roof of a cabin, a step higher
than the rest of the poop. He was again in his splendid armour, his
naked sword was in his hand, at his side was stationed Eurybiades and
half a score more stalwart seamen, all swinging their bare cutlasses.
Demetrius nevertheless conducted his interrogations with perhaps
superfluous demonstrations of courtesy, and a general distribution of
polite "domini" "dominae," "clarissimi," and "illustres." He spoke in
perfectly good Latin, with only the slightest foreign accent; and
Cornelia, who--unregenerate pagan that she was--was taking thorough
delight in the dilemma of persons whom she knew had made her the butt
of their scandalous gibes, could only admire the skilful manner in
which he brought home to the several captives the necessity of finding
a very large sum of money at their bankers' in a very short time, or
enduring an indefinite captivity. After more or less of surly threats
and resistance on the part of the men, and screaming on the part of
the women, the prisoners one and all capitulated, and put their names
to the papyri they were commanded to sign; and away went a boat
dancing over the waves to Puteoli to cash the money orders, after
which the captives would be set ashore at Baiae.

Last of the wretches brought before Demetrius came Phaon. The freedman
had been roughly handled; across his brow a great welt had risen where
a pirate had struck him with a rope's end. His arms were pinioned
behind his back. He was perfectly pale, and his eyes wandered from one
person to another as if vainly seeking some intercessor.

"_Euge! Kyrios_[170]" cried the pirate chief, "you indeed seem to
enjoy our hospitality but ill."

[170] Your Highness.

Phaon fell on his knees.

"I am a poor man," he began to whimper. "I have no means of paying a
ra