she might be, his mother's intercession should benefit her.
Hermon might assure her that he, the commander, meant to deal leniently.
He pressed the artist's hand as he spoke, and walked rapidly away to
ascertain the condition of affairs in the other guardhouses.

Never had the brave artist's heart throbbed faster in any danger than on
the eve of this meeting; but it was no longer love that thrilled it so
passionately, far less hate or the desire to let his foe feel that her
revenge was baffled.

It was easy for the victor to exercise magnanimity, and easiest of all
for the sculptor in the presence of so beautiful an enemy, and Hermon
thought he had never seen the Biamite look fairer. How exquisitely
rounded was the oval, how delicately cut the profile of her face, how
large were the widely separated, sparkling eyes, above which, even in
the pale moonlight, the thick black brows were visible, united under the
forehead as if for a dark deed to be performed in common!

Time had rather enhanced than lessened the spell of this wonderful young
creature. Now she rose from the ground where she had been crouching and
paced several times up and down the short path at her disposal; but
she started suddenly, for one of the Gauls bound to the posts, in whom
Hermon recognised the bridge-builder, Lutarius, called her name, and
when she turned her face toward him, panted in broken Greek like one
overwhelmed by despair: "Once more--it shall be the last time--I beseech
you! Lay your hand upon my brow, and if that is too much, speak but one
kind word to me before all is over! I only want to hear that you do not
hate me like a foe and despise me like a dog. What can it cost you? You
need only tell me in two words that you are sorry for your harshness."

"The same fate awaits us both," cried Ledscha curtly and firmly. "Let
each take care of himself. When my turn comes and my eyes grow dim in
death, I will thank them that they will not show you to me again, base
wretch, throughout eternity."

Lutarius shrieked aloud in savage fury, and tore so frantically at the
strong ropes which bound him that the firm posts shook, but Ledscha
turned away and approached the hut.

She leaned thoughtfully against one of the pillars that supported the
roof, and the artist's eyes watched her intently; every movement seemed
to him noble and worth remembering.

With her hand shading her brow, she gazed upward to the full moon.

Hermon had already delaye