gh with me
to-day, and weep with me to-morrow--and who shows that he is happier when
his eye meets mine. You are now my son; and soon you shall have the name
of son; that is happiness enough for one evening. Not another word--this
hour is like the finished masterpiece of some great painter; every touch
that could be added might spoil it. You may kiss my forehead, I will kiss
yours; now I will go to rest, and to-morrow when I wake I shall say to
myself that I possess something worth living for--a child, a son."

When the Empress was alone she raised her hand in prayer but she could
find no words of thanksgiving. One hour of pure happiness she had indeed
enjoyed, but how many days, months, years of joylessness and suffering
lay behind her! Gratitude knocked at the door of her heart but it was
instantly met by bitter defiance; what was one hour of happiness in the
balance against a ruined lifetime?

Foolish woman! she had never sown the seeds of love, and now she blamed
the gods for niggardliness and cruelty in denying her a harvest of love.
And now, on what soil had the seed of maternal tenderness fallen?

Verus it is true had left her content and full of hope--Sabina's altered
demeanor, it is true, had touched his heart--he purposed to cling to her
faithfully even after his formal adoption; but the light in his eye was
not that of a proud and happy son, on the contrary it sparkled like that
of a warrior who hopes to gain the victory.

Notwithstanding the late hour, his wife had not yet gone to bed. She had
heard that he had been summoned to the Empress on his return home, and
awaited him not without anxiety, for she was not accustomed to anything
pleasant from Sabina. Her husband's hasty step echoed loudly from the
stone walls of the sleeping palace. She heard it at some distance, and
went to the door of her room to meet him. Radiant, excited, and with
flushed cheeks, he held out both his hands to her. She looked so fair in
her white night-wrapper of fine white material, and his heart was so full
that he clasped her in his arms as fondly as when she was his bride; and
she loved him even now no less than she had done then, and felt for the
hundredth time with grateful joy that the faithless scapegrace had once
more returned to her unchangeable and faithful heart, like a sailor who,
after wandering through many lands seeks his native port.

"Lucilla," he cried, disengaging her arms from round his neck. "Oh,
Lucilla! wh