a glimpse of other and worse things, and behind all of some
shadowy brooding mystery which compelled her to suffer them and forbade
her to complain. What that was he could not conceive, what it could be
he could not conceive: nor had he long to consider the question. He
found the shifty eyes of his table-fellow fixed upon him, and, though
the moment his own eyes met them they were averted, he fancied that they
sped a glance of intelligence to the table behind him, and he hastened
to curb, if not his feelings, at least the show of them. He had his
warning. It was not as Tissot he must act if he would help her, but more
warily, more patiently, biding her time, and letting the blow, when the
time came, precede the word. Unwarned, he had acted it is probable as
Tissot had acted, weakly and stormily: warned, he had no excuse if he
failed her. Young as he was he saw this. The fault lay with him if he
made the position worse instead of better.

Whether, do what he would, his feelings made themselves known--for the
shoulders can speak, and eloquently, on occasion--or the reverse was the
case, and his failure to rise to the bait disappointed the tormentor,
the big man, Basterga, presently resumed the attack.

"Tissotius pereat, Tissotianus adest!" he muttered with a sneer. "But
perhaps, young sir, Latinity is not one of your subjects. The tongue of
the immortal Cicero----"

"I speak it a little," Claude answered quietly. "It were foolish to
approach the door of learning without the key."

"Oh, you are a wit, young sir! Well, with your wit and your Latinity can
you construe this:--

Stultitiam expellas, furca tamen usque recurret
Tissotius periit terque quaterque redit!"

"I think so," Claude replied gravely.

"Good, if it please you! And the meaning?"

"Tissot was a fool, and you are another!" the young man returned. "Will
you now solve me one, reverend sir, with all submission?"

"Said and done!" the big man answered disdainfully.

"Nec volucres plumae faciunt nec cuspis Achillem! Construe me that then
if you will!"

Basterga shrugged his shoulders. "Fine feathers do not make fine birds!"
he said. "If you apply it to me," he continued with a contemptuous face,
"I----"

"Oh, no, to your company," Claude answered. Self-control comes hardly to
the young, and he had already forgotten his _role_. "Ask him what
happened last night at the 'Bible and Hand,'" he continued, pointing to
Grio, "and how he stands n