'Are they gone yet?

'Yes--why? I sent the first fleet off three days ago; and the rest
are clearing outwards to-day.'

'Oh!--ah--so!--Then you have not heard from Heraclian?'

'Heraclian? What the-blessed saints has the Count of Africa to do
with my wheat-ships?'

'Oh, nothing. It's no business of mine. Only he is going to rebel
.... But here we are at your door.'

'To what?' asked Orestes, in a horrified tone.

'To rebel, and attack Rome.'

'Good gods--God, I mean. A fresh bore! Come in, and tell a poor
miserable slave of a governor--speak low, for Heaven's sake!--I hope
these rascally grooms haven't overheard you.'

'Easy to throw them into the canal, if they have,' quoth Raphael, as
he walked coolly through hall and corridor after the perturbed
governor.

Poor Orestes never stopped till he reached a little chamber of the
inner court, beckoned the Jew in after him, locked the door, threw
himself into an arm-chair, put his hands on his knees, and sat,
bending forward, staring into Raphael's face with a ludicrous terror
and perplexity.