her life had experienced such an unaccountable sense of disquietude.

"It is my habit always to push the bolt," said the slave, bowing, and
leading the way toward the peristylium.

"You are Titus Denter's slave?" asked Fabia. The other nodded. "And
your master is a very sick man?"

"Your most noble ladyship shall judge for herself."

"Take me to him at once, if he can see me."

"He is waiting."

The two went through the narrow passageway which led from the outer
court of the atrium into the inner court of the peristylium. Fabia was
surprised to see that here all the marble work had been carefully
washed clean, the little enclosed garden was in beautiful order, and
in various corners and behind some of the pillars were bronze and
sculptured statues of really choice art. The slave stopped and pointed
to a couch upholstered in crimson, beside the fish tank, where tame
lampreys were rising for a bit of food.

"Take me to your master!" repeated Fabia, puzzled by the gesture. "I
am not weary. You say he waits me?"

"He will be here," replied the servant, with another bow.

"Here?" exclaimed the Vestal, now really alarmed. "Here? He, a man
sick unto death?"

"Certainly; here!" broke in a strange voice; and forth from behind a
pillar stepped Publius Gabinius, all pomaded and rouged, dressed only
in a gauzy, many-folded scarlet _synthesis_.[108]

[108] The "dinner coat" of the Romans.

Fabia gave a scream and sprang back in instinctive alarm. In the
twinkling of an eye it flashed over her that for some purpose or other
she had been trapped. Gabinius she knew barely by sight; but his
reputation had come to her ears, and fame spoke nothing good of him.
Yet even at the moment when she felt herself in the most imminent
personal peril, the inbred dignity and composed hauteur of the Vestal
did not desert her. At the selfsame instant that she said to herself,
"Can I escape through the atrium before they can stop me?" recovering
from her first surprise, and with never a quiver of eyelash or a
paling of cheek, she was saying aloud, in a tone cold as ice, "And
indeed, most excellent Gabinius, you must pardon me for being
startled; for all that I know of you tells me that you are likely to
find a sombre Vestal sorry enough company."

Gabinius had been counting coolly on a very noisy scene, one of a kind
he was fairly familiar with--an abundance of screaming, expostulation,
tearing of hair, and other manifestations of femi