silence—nothing, unless it be the whispering of servants, or the whistling of happy birds, or the noise of fountains at play; it is changeless, except as day by day old flowers fade and fall, and new ones bud and bloom, and the sunlight gives place to the shadow of a passing cloud. The life, Esther, was all too quiet for me. It made me restless by keeping always present a feeling that I, who have so much to do, was dropping into idle habits, and tying my self with silken chains, and after a while—and not a long while either—would end with nothing done."
She looked off over the river.
"Why did you ask?" he said.
"Good my master—"
" No, no, Esther—not that. Call me friend—brother, if you will; I am not your master, and will not be. Call me brother."
He could not see the flush of pleasure which reddened her face, and the glow of the eyes that went out lost in the void above the river.
"I cannot understand," she said, "the nature which prefers the life you are going to—a life—"
"Of violence, and it may be of blood," he said, completing the sentence.
"Yes," she added, "the nature which could prefer that life to such as might be in the beautiful villa."
"Esther, you mistake. There is no preference. Alas! the Roman is not so kind. I am going of necessity. To stay here is to die; and if I go there, the end will be the same—a poisoned cup, a bravo's blow, or a judge's sentence obtained by perjury. Messala and the procurator Gratus are rich with plunder of my father’s estate, and it is more important to them to keep their gains now than was their getting in the first instance. A peaceable settlement is out of reach, because of the confession it would I imply. And then—then— Ah, Esther, if I could buy them, I do not know that I would. I do not believe peace possible to me; no, not even in the sleepy shade and sweet air of the marble porches of the old villa—no matter who might be there to help me bear the burdens of the days, nor by what patience of love she made the effort. Peace
