Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FOURTH 12. Chapter XII (continued)

'Arbaces, replied Calenus, losing all the vulgar audacity of his natural character, 'verily thou art a Magician; thou readest the heart as it were a scroll.'

'It is my vocation,' answered the Egyptian, laughing gently. 'Well, then, forbear; and when all is over, I will make thee rich.'

'Pardon me,' said the priest, as the quick suggestion of that avarice, which was his master-passion, bade him trust no future chance of generosity; 'pardon me; thou saidst right--we know each other. If thou wouldst have me silent, thou must pay something in advance, as an offer to Harpocrates.' If the rose, sweet emblem of discretion, is to take root firmly, water her this night with a stream of gold.'

'Witty and poetical!' answered Arbaces, still in that bland voice which lulled and encouraged, when it ought to have alarmed and checked, his griping comrade. 'Wilt thou not wait the morrow?'

'Why this delay? Perhaps, when I can no longer give my testimony without shame for not having given it ere the innocent man suffered, thou wilt forget my claim; and, indeed, thy present hesitation is a bad omen of thy future gratitude.'

'Well, then, Calenus, what wouldst thou have me pay thee?'

'Thy life is, very precious, and thy wealth is very great,' returned the priest, grinning.

'Wittier and more witty. But speak out--what shall be the sum?'

'Arbaces, I have heard that in thy secret treasury below, beneath those rude Oscan arches which prop thy stately halls, thou hast piles of gold, of vases, and of jewels, which might rival the receptacles of the wealth of the deified Nero. Thou mayst easily spare out of those piles enough to make Calenus among the richest priests of Pompeii, and yet not miss the loss.'