Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE FOURTH 13. Chapter XIII (continued)

'Very fair. Now, then, O Bacchus! befriend me. Thou knowest that I have always loved thee better than all the other gods, and I will dedicate to thee that silver cup I stole last year from the burly carptor (butler), if thou wilt but befriend me with this water-loving demon. And thou, O Spirit! listen and hear me. Shall I be enabled to purchase my freedom next year? Thou knowest; for, as thou livest in the air, the birds have doubtless acquainted thee with every secret of this house,--thou knowest that I have filched and pilfered all that I honestly--that is, safely--could lay finger upon for the last three years, and I yet want two thousand sesterces of the full sum. Shall I be able, O good Spirit! to make up the deficiency in the course of this year? Speak--Ha! does the water bubble? No; all is as still as a tomb.--Well, then, if not this year, in two years?--Ah! I hear something; the demon is scratching at the door; he'll be here presently.--In two years, my good fellow: come now, two; that's a very reasonable time. What! dumb still! Two years and a half--three--four? ill fortune to you, friend demon! You are not a lady, that's clear, or you would not keep silence so long. Five--six--sixty years? and may Pluto seize you! I'll ask no more.' And Sosia, in a rage, kicked down the water over his legs. He then, after much fumbling and more cursing, managed to extricate his head from the napkin in which it was completely folded--stared round--and discovered that he was in the dark.

'What, ho! Nydia; the lamp is gone. Ah, traitress; and thou art gone too; but I'll catch thee--thou shalt smart for this!' The slave groped his way to the door; it was bolted from without: he was a prisoner instead of Nydia. What could he do? He did not dare to knock loud--to call out--lest Arbaces should overhear him, and discover how he had been duped; and Nydia, meanwhile, had probably already gained the garden-gate, and was fast on her escape.

'But,' thought he, 'she will go home, or, at least, be somewhere in the city. To-morrow, at dawn, when the slaves are at work in the peristyle, I can make myself heard; then I can go forth and seek her. I shall be sure to find and bring her back, before Arbaces knows a word of the matter. Ah! that's the best plan. Little traitress, my fingers itch at thee: and to leave only a bowl of water, too! Had it been wine, it would have been some comfort.'