his native place, which he had never expected to see again--and its
hills and streams and well-remembered haunts seemed to approach with one
bound so near to him--and the faces of the loved ones at home began once
again to look so tenderly into his own--and the thought of throwing off
even the light, silken chains which he had been wearing, and of standing
up in the sight of heaven a free man again, was so grateful to his
soul--what could he do but remain silent and overpowered with
conflicting emotions, and wait to hear more?

'Think not to refuse your liberty,' she said, as she read his doubts and
perplexities, 'It must not be. No man has the right to suffer
degradation when he can avoid it. And though I might continue kind to
you, who can answer for it that I should live to be kind to the end? No,
no; from this instant be a free man again. And, for the few moments that
remain to us, strive to think of me only as your equal and your friend.'

Still silent. What, indeed, could he say? She knew that he was grateful
to her, and that was enough. But why should he, of all slaves in Rome,
find such kindly treatment? What had he ever done to deserve it? And--as
often before--that puzzled look of wondering inquiry came over his face
while he gazed into her own. She noticed it, but now made no attempt to
disguise herself by any forced and unnatural assumption of haughty
pride. Were he at last to learn the truth, there could surely no harm
come of it.

'You must depart to-night,' she said, 'and before it becomes known that
I am sending you away; lest, knowing it, others might claim authority to
delay or prevent you. Take this little purse. It contains a few gold
pieces, which you may need. And here is a written pass which will lead
you to Ostia. There you will go to the tavern of the Three Cranes, and
inquire for one Pollio, who has a vessel ready to sail for Samos. In
that vessel your passage is paid. Show him this ring. It will be a token
for him to know you by. And keep the ring ever afterward, as a sign that
you have a friend left here, who will often think of you with pleasure
and interest.'

'My mistress,' he said, taking the ring and placing it upon his finger,
'what have I done that you should be thus kind to me?'

'Nay; no longer mistress, but friend,' she said, with a melancholy
smile. 'As such alone let us converse during the hour that remains, for
you must soon leave me. It may be that when you arrive at Ostia,