or, with a peculiar look in his eyes.

"Because you say you are an old friend of his, and, of course, I didn't
know. It was only out of civility that I did so."

"Yes, so I suppose," was the reply. "Poor fellow! Your man meant
well," continued the visitor, with his whole manner changed, and he
spoke in a half-mocking, cynical way which puzzled and annoyed the boy.
"A poor, weak, foolish fellow, though, who hardly understands what he
meant. Don't you think he was very weak, bull-headed and absurd?"

"Well--no," said the boy, quickly, and his face began to flush, and grew
the deeper in tint as he noticed a supercilious, mocking smile playing
upon the visitor's lips. "Serge is a very true, honest fellow, and
thought he was doing right."

"Yes, of course," said the other, "but some people in meaning to do
right often commit themselves and do great wrong."

"But you knew my father well?" said Marcus, hastily, to change the
conversation. "I never heard him mention you."

"No, I suppose not," said the visitor, thoughtfully, but with a mocking
smile upon his lip growing more marked as he went on. "I don't suppose
he would ever mention me. A very good, true fellow, Cracis, and, as I
said, we were once great friends. But a weak and foolish man who got
into very great trouble with the Senate and with me. There was great
trouble at the time, and I had to defend him."

"You had to defend my father?" said Marcus, turning pale, and with a
strange sensation rising in his breast. "What for?"

"Why, there was that charge of cowardice--the retreat he headed from the
Gaulish troops," continued the visitor, watching the boy intently all
the while. "He was charged with being a coward, and--"

"It was a lie!" cried the boy, fiercely. "You know it was a lie. My
father is the bravest, truest man that ever lived, and you who speak so
can be no friend of his. Old Serge was right, for he saw at once what
kind of man you are. How dare you speak to me like that! Go, sir!
Leave this house at once."

"Go, boy?" said the visitor, coldly, and with a look of suppressed anger
gathering in his eyes. "And suppose that I refuse to go at the bidding
of such a boy as you?"

"Refuse?" cried Marcus, fiercely. "You dare to refuse?"

"Yes, boy, I refuse. And what then?"

"This!" cried the boy, overcome with rage, and, raising his hand, he
made a dash as if about to strike, just as a step was heard, and, calmly
and thoughtfully, C