To one thing, however, we may pledge ourselves, that Juba had no intention of shaking, even for one evening, the nerves of Jucundus; yet shaken they were till about the same time twenty-four hours afterwards. And when in that depressed state, he saw nothing but misery on all sides of him. Juba was lost; Agellius worse. Of course, he had joined himself to his sect, and he should never see him again; and how should he ever hold up his head? Well, he only hoped Agellius would not be boiled in a caldron, or roasted at a slow fire. If this were done, he positively must leave Sicca, and the most thriving trade which any man had in the whole of the Proconsulate. And then that little Callista! Ah!—what a real calamity was there! Anyhow he had lost her, and what should he do for a finisher of his fine work in marble, or metal? She was a treasure in herself. Altogether the heavens were very dark; and it was scarcely possible for any one who knew well his jovial cast of countenance, to keep from laughing, whatever his real sympathy, at the unusual length and blankness which were suddenly imposed upon it.

While he sat thus at his shop window, which, as it were, framed him for the contemplation of passers-by, on the day of the escape of Agellius, and the day before Callista’s public examination, Aristo rushed in upon him in a state of far more passionate and more reasonable grief. He had called, indeed, the day before, but he found a pleasure in expending his distress upon others, and he came again to get rid of its insupportable weight by discharging it in a torrent of tears and exclamations. However, at first the words of both “moved slow,” as the poet says, and went off in a sort of dropping fire.

“Well,” said Jucundus, in a depressed tone; “he’s not come to you, of course?”

“Who?”

“Agellius.”

“Oh! Agellius! No, he’s not with me.” Then, after a pause, Aristo added, “Why should he be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I thought he might be. He’s been gone since early morning.”

“Indeed! No, I don’t know where he is. How came he with you?”

“I told you yesterday; but you have forgotten. I was sheltering him; but he’s gone for ever.”

“Indeed!”

“And his brother’s mad!—horribly mad!” and he slapped his hand against his thigh.

“I always thought it,” answered Aristo.

“Did you? Yes, so it is; but it’s very different from what it ever was. The furies have got hold of him with a vengeance! He’s frantic! Oh, if you had seen him! Two boys, both mad! It’s all the father!”

“I thought you’d like to hear something about dear, sweet Callista,” said her brother.

“Yes, I should indeed!” answered Jucundus. “By Esculapius! they’re all mad together!”