of goats' milk, and abread-cake, if you will accept them."
The old woman smiled a little, but this smile was so fleeting that itcould not dispel the expression of deep sorrow which rested upon hercountenance.
"I spent my entire youth up here among these mountains," she said. "Ihave not yet forgotten the trick of driving a wolf from his lair."
And she actually looked so strong and vigorous that the laborer didn'tdoubt that she still possessed strength enough, despite her great age,to fight with the wild beasts of the forest.
He repeated his invitation, and the old woman stepped into the cottage.She sat down to the frugal meal, and partook of it without hesitancy.Although she seemed to be well satisfied with the fare of coarse breadsoaked in goats' milk, both the man and his wife thought: "Where canthis old wanderer come from? She has certainly eaten pheasants served onsilver plates oftener than she has drunk goats' milk from earthenbowls."
Now and then she raised her eyes from the food and looked around,--as ifto try and realize that she was back in the hut. The poor old home withits bare clay walls and its earth floor was certainly not much changed.She pointed out to her hosts that on the walls there were still visiblesome traces of dogs and deer which her father had sketched there toamuse his little children. And on a shelf, high up, she thought she sawfragments of an earthen dish which she herself had used to measure milkin.
The man and his wife thought to themselves: "It must be true that shewas born in this hut, but she has surely had much more to attend to inthis life than milking goats and making butter and cheese."
They observed also that her thoughts were often far away, and that shesighed heavily and anxiously every time she came back to herself.
Finally she rose from the table. She thanked them graciously for thehospitality she had enjoyed, and walked toward the door.
But then it seemed to the vine-dresser that she was pitifully poor andlonely, and he exclaimed: "If I am not mistaken, it was not yourintention, when you dragged yourself up here last night, to leave thishut so soon. If you are actually as poor as you seem, it must have beenyour intention to remain here for the rest of your life. But now youwish to leave because my wife and I have taken possession of the hut."
The old woman did not deny that he had guessed rightly. "But this hut,which for many years has been deserted, belongs to you as much as tome," she said. "I have no right to drive you from it."
"It is still your parents' hut," said the laborer, "and you surely havea better right to it than we have. Besides, we are young and you areold; therefore, you shall remain and we will go."
When the old woman heard this, she was greatly astonished. She turnedaround on the threshold and stared at the man, as though she had notunderstood what he meant by his words.
But now the young wife joined in the conversation.
"If I might suggest," said she to her husband, "I should beg you to askthis old woman if she won't look upon us as her own children, and permitus to stay with her and take care of her. What service would we renderher if we gave her this miserable hut and then left her? It would beterrible for her to live here in this wilderness alone! And what wouldshe live on? It would be just like letting her starve to death."
The old woman went up to the man and his wife and regarded themcarefully. "Why do you speak thus?" she asked. "Why are you so mercifulto me? You are strangers."
Then the young wife answered: "It is because we ourselves once met withgreat mercy."
II
This is how the old woman came to live in the vine-dresser's hut. Andshe conceived a great friendship for the young people. But for all thatshe never told them whence she had come, or who she was, and theyunderstood that she would not have taken it in good part had theyquestioned her.
But one evening, when the day's work was done, and all three sat on thebig, flat rock which lay before the entrance, and partook of theirevening meal, they saw an old man coming up the path.
He was a tall and powerfully built man, with shoulders as broad as agladiator's. His face wore a cheerless and stern expression. The browsjutted far out over the deep-set eyes, and the lines around the mouthexpressed bitterness and contempt. He walked with erect bearing andquick movements.
The man wore a simple dress, and the instant the vine-dresser saw him,he said: "He is an old soldier, one who has been discharged from serviceand is now on his way home."
When the stranger came directly before them he paused, as if in doubt.The laborer, who knew that the road terminated a short distance beyondthe hut, laid down his spoon and called out to him: "Have you goneastray, stranger, since you come hither? Usually, no one takes thetrouble to climb up here, unless he has an errand to one of us who livehere."
When he questioned in this manner, the stranger came nearer. "It is asyou say," said he. "I have taken the wrong road, and now I know notwhither I shall direct my steps. If you will let me rest here a while,and then tell me which path I shall follow to get to some farm, I shallbe grateful to you."
As he spake he sat down upon one of the stones which lay before the hut.The young woman asked him if he wouldn't share their supper, but this hedeclined with a smile. On the other hand it was very evident that he wasinclined to talk with them, while they ate. He asked the young folksabout their manner of living, and their work, and they answered himfrankly and cheerfully.
Suddenly the laborer turned toward the stranger and began to questionhim. "You see in what a lonely and isolated way we live," said he. "Itmust be a year at least since I have talked with any one exceptshepherds and vineyard laborers. Can not you, who must come from somecamp, tell us something about Rome and the Emperor?"
Hardly had the man said this than the young wife noticed that the oldwoman gave him a warning glance, and made with her hand the sign whichmeans--Have a care what you say.
The stranger, meanwhile, answered very affably: "I understand that youtake me for a soldier, which is not untrue, although I have long sinceleft the service. During Tiberius' reign there has not been much workfor us soldiers. Yet he was once a great commander. Those were the daysof his good fortune. Now he thinks of nothing except to guard himselfagainst conspiracies. In Rome, every one is talking about how, lastweek, he let Senator Titius be seized and executed on the merestsuspicion."
"The poor Emperor no longer knows what he does!" exclaimed the youngwoman; and shook her head in pity and surprise.
"You are perfectly right," said the stranger, as an expression of thedeepest melancholy crossed his countenance. "Tiberius knows that everyone hates him, and this is driving him insane."
"What say you?" the woman retorted. "Why should we hate him? We onlydeplore the fact that he is no longer the great Emperor he was in thebeginning of his reign."
"You are mistaken," said the stranger. "Every one hates and detestsTiberius. Why should they do otherwise? He is nothing but a cruel andmerciless tyrant. In Rome they think that from now on he will becomeeven more unreasonable than he has been."
"Has anything happened, then, which will turn him into a worse beastthan he is already?" queried the vine-dresser.
When he said this, the wife noticed that the old woman gave him a newwarning signal, but so stealthily that he could not see it.
The stranger answered him in a kindly manner, but at the same time asingular smile played about his lips.
"You have heard, perhaps, that until now Tiberius has had a friend inhis household on whom he could rely, and who has always told him thetruth. All the rest who live in his palace are fortune-hunters andhypocrites, who praise the Emperor's wicked and cunning acts just asmuch as his good and admirable ones. But there was, as we have said, onealone who never feared to let him know how his conduct was actuallyregarded. This person, who was more courageous than senators andgenerals, was the Emperor's old nurse, Faustina."
"I have heard of her," said the laborer. "I've been told that theEmperor has always shown her great friendship."
"Yes, Tiberius
knew how to prize her affection and loyalty. He treatedthis poor peasant woman, who came from a miserable hut in the Sabinemountains, as his second mother. As long as he stayed in Rome, he lether live in a mansion on the Palatine, that he might always have hernear him. None of Rome's noble matrons has fared better than she. Shewas borne through the streets in a litter, and her dress was that of anempress. When the Emperor moved to Capri, she had to accompany him, andhe bought a country estate for her there, and filled it with slaves andcostly furnishings."
"She has certainly fared well," said the husband.
Now it was he who kept up the conversation with the stranger. The wifesat silent and observed with surprise the change which had come over theold woman. Since the
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