advance, and that immediately before Varro's
return. Varro! Varro! what care I for Varro? I will deceive him if it
pleases me. The world will call me vile if they discover. What care I
for the world? What care I for the worms which crawl? Many worse than
Nika. No, what cares Nika, accursed of Hecate? Take thy pleasure; to
love is life, and union of souls is strength even if we be but two--'tis
better than one against the hosts of hell! Nika is single-handed; Nika
has no kindred soul to join in the fight--Nika the doomed one, against
whom the Fates war, around whom the Furies rage. Arouse thyself! Set thy
face against what is called goodness, chastity! Defy those
principalities and powers which torture thee, laugh at thee, shatter thy
hopes, damn thee for the next life, before thou puttest aside the vile
clay of this, make sport of thy soul ere half the circle of thy days is
spent!

'No, no! Enough, enough! I will fill my cup with every pleasure, if well
deep enough be found. I will joy in the sunshine, if it be but for one
day, like the many-coloured lily which opens to the morning sun and dies
at eventide. Away, Nika, to the world of pleasure! But first drink deep
of Grecian wine to brace thyself. What care I for peace? I shall be no
worse than many of my Romans.'

* * * * *

The sun went down like an angry god, the west was ablaze with lurid
gleam, the winds rushed in from the sea and smote the land, burying it
with a shroud of foam. The rain descended in torrents and deluged the
shore. The storm passed through the great city and away over the
mountain-tops. The streets were deserted and a gloom rested on the land.

One solitary human being might have been seen winding her way from place
to place, and up the mountain side towards the home of Nika. With wet
and clinging garments she hesitated in front of the house. Watching an
opportunity, she pushed through the hedgerow of myrtles and stood within
the garden. Stealthily she crept from shrub to shrub, now under the
shelter of a laurel, then tearing through a mass of roses and trampling
under feet the loveliest flowers, scarcely knowing whither she went, but
making for a light which filtered through a window of many-coloured
glass, until at last she stood in front of it, and dimly saw the
overhanging jasmine and the great, white flowers of the magnolia. For a
moment the perfume, like an angel guardian, uttered protest and dared
approa