In the shade of the sail some sailors lay asleep, and up on the yard there was a lookout.

Lifting his eyes from the solarium set under the aplustre for reference in keeping the course, Arrius beheld the rower approaching.
"The chief called thee the noble Arrius, and said it was thy will that I should seek thee here.

I have come." Arrius surveyed the figure, tall, sinewy, glistening in the sun, and tinted by the rich red blood within--surveyed it admiringly, and with a thought of the arena; yet the manner was not without effect upon him: there was in the voice a suggestion of life at least partly spent under refining influences; the eyes were clear and open, and more curious than defiant.

To the shrewd, demanding, masterful glance bent upon it, the face gave back nothing to mar its youthful comeliness--nothing of accusation or sullenness or menace, only the signs which a great sorrow long borne imprints, as time mellows the surface of pictures.

In tacit acknowledgment of the effect, the Roman spoke as an older man to a younger, not as a master to a slave.
"The hortator tells me thou art his best rower." "The hortator is very kind," the rower answered.
"Hast thou seen much service ?" "About three years." "At the oars ?" "I cannot recall a day of rest from them." "The labor is hard; few men bear it a year without breaking, and thou--thou art but a boy." "The noble Arrius forgets that the spirit hath much to do with endurance.