e her and
stooping to the very ground he kissed the tip of her sandal. "'Tis only
on bended knees that such as I can render sufficient thanks to God and
to thee for that holy, precious gift."

She bent down to him and said with earnest solemnity:

"Then I entreat thee, good my lord, in the name of that love go not to
the Caesar now.... An he doth not kill thee ... an thou dost help to
bring him back to power, he will use that power to part thee from me....
Do not go from me now, dear lord--for if thou goest I know that it will
be for ever.... The Caesar hates thee now as much as he loved thee before
... his hatred is as insensate as his love.... He will kill thee or take
thee from me.... In either case 'tis death, my good lord...."

"'Twere death to betray the Caesar, O my soul!" he replied, still on his
knees, his forehead bent low to the ground, "Death, a thousand times
worse than a dagger's thrust ... a thousand times worse than parting."

His voice was low and vibrant, and as his solemn words died away, they
struck the murmuring echo that slumbered on the studio walls. And Dea
Flavia was silent now: silent as he rose to his feet and stood before
her with head slightly bent, silent, because borne on the subtle wing of
that same dying echo there came to her the awful sense of unavoidable
fate. She shuddered as if with cold, that sense of fatality seemed
ready to spread over her soul like a pall.

It was only the Roman blood in her, the blood of victorious Augustus
which would not allow her to yield to the spectre ... not just yet ...
not until the last battle had been fought--the last unconquerable weapon
drawn.

She waited in silence for a while, nor did she detain him by the
slightest gesture although he once more made a movement as if to go,
only her eyes rooted him to the spot even as she said very softly, her
voice sounding full and mellow like the cooing of a dove.

"My lord, I entreat thee but to grant me one moment longer, for of a
truth there is much that my mind cannot grasp. Of thy god we will not
speak. Whoever he be, as thou dost worship him, I will be content to
worship by thy side. But that will come in the fullness of time. Dost
love me, my dear lord?"

"With every aspiration of my soul, with every beating of my heart, with
every fibre of my body do I love thee," he said, and there was such
intensity of passion in his voice, such a glowing ardour in the glance
which seemed to envelop and embra