en were silent, feeling awed and not a little frightened; the
girl, whose shoulder was now bleeding profusely, continued her
whimpering.

"Get up, girl," said Licinia roughly, "and staunch thy scratch
elsewhere, away from my lady's sight. Hark at the baggage! One would
think she is really hurt. Get thee gone, I say, ere I give thee better
cause for whining."

But in a moment Dea Flavia was on her feet. With a quick cry of pity she
ran to her slave, kneeled beside her and with a fine white cloth
herself tried to staunch the wound.

"Art hurt?" she said gently, "art hurt, child? I did not wish to hurt
thee. Stop thy weeping--and I'll give thee that amber locket which thou
dost covet so. Stop thy weeping, I say! Is it my white rabbit thou dost
hanker after--thou shalt have it for thine own--or--or--the woollen
tunic with the embroidered bands--or--or--Stop whining, girl," she added
impatiently, seeing that the girl, more frightened than hurt, was
sobbing louder than before. "Licinia, make her stop--she angers me with
all this whining--stop, I tell thee. Oh, Licinia, where is thy whip? I
vow I'll have the girl whipped if she do not stop."

But Licinia, accustomed to her mistress's quick changing moods, had in
her turn knelt beside the girl and was busy now with deft hands in
staunching the blood and tying up the wound. This done she dragged the
child up roughly, though not unkindly, from the ground.

"Get thee gone and lie down on thy bed," she said; "shame on thee for
making such a to-do. My lady had no wish to hurt thee, and thou hast
upset her with all this senseless weeping. Get thee gone now ere I do
give thee that whipping which thou dost well deserve."

She contrived to push the girl out of the chamber and ordered two others
to follow and look after her; then once more she turned to her mistress,
ready to tender fond apologies since what she had said had so angered
her beloved.

Dea Flavia had thrown herself on the couch on her back; her arms were
folded behind her head, her fair hair lay in heavy masses on the
embroidered coverlet. She was staring straight up at the ceiling, her
blue eyes wide open, and a puzzled frown across her brow.

"My precious one," murmured Licinia.

But Dea Flavia apparently did not hear. It seemed as if she were
grappling in her mind with some worrying puzzle, the solution of which
lay hidden up there behind that brilliant bit of blue sky which
glimmered through the square openin