It is a marvel, which I myself do not understand, that I did not grow wicked with such a man, a man who--why should I conceal it--who, when we were at Rome, because he was in debt, and because he hoped to get promotion through his legate Quintillus, sold me--me--to him.

He himself brought the old man--who had often followed me about--into his house, but our hostess, a good woman, had overheard the matter, and betrayed it all to me.

It is so base, so vile--it seems to blacken my soul only to think of it! The legate got little enough in return for his sesterces, but Phoebicius did not restore his wages of sin, and his rage against me knew no bounds when he was transferred to the oasis at the instigation of his betrayed chief.

Now you know all, and never advise me again to return to that man to whom my misfortune has bound me.
"Only listen how the poor little beast in there is whining.

It wants to come to me, and has not the strength to move." Paulus looked after her sympathetically as she disappeared under the opening in the rock, and he awaited her return with folded arms.