ase I have not power. I stand
here, not to punish, but to perform the sacred rites my office demands;
but I forgive thee, forgive thee, Nika, whatever may be thy fate.'

The low tones of Diana's hymn broke the stillness, and Saronia led the
trembling woman to the Virgin Cave of Hecate.

The great doors swung back, the doors of olive were wide apart, and soft
Ionian music floated by like the rhythm of angels' wings.

'Nika--let me kiss thee, Nika.'

And Saronia took the face bestrewn with golden hair between her jewelled
hands, and passionately kissed the trembling lips of the daughter of
Lucius.

Then she led the fated woman to the cave, and left her.

The great doors flew back like the jaws of death, and in a moment or two
sounds of weeping were heard, and the people turned away. Full well they
knew the syrinx had fallen, and Nika was gone--for ever.

CHAPTER XXXVI

REVERIE

The passing of Nika spoke strongly to Saronia. She had lived with her,
served with her, felt the keen injustice of her nature, and now the end
had come.

Had it been woman against woman, she would not have crushed the Roman;
but it was not so. It was a woman in conflict with the goddess. Saronia
had been powerless to help, and dared not question the vengeance of
Hecate.

She sympathized with Lucius, her old master, always kind; pictured him
returning to Ephesus, hastening to his home on the Coressian hill,
expecting loving greeting, hearing the dreadful death of his only child
from a broken-hearted wife. She saw the tears streaming down the face of
the weather-beaten mariner, and watched the wrecked soul as it looked
out through the lustreless eyes.

It was horrible to think of all this, and to dwell on the thought that
question after question would arise in his mind why the Fates did not
sooner bring him home that he might have saved her--fought for her, if
need be; and, above all, why did not Saronia protect her against the
power of the Roman, Proconsul though he was? He would revert back to the
time when he saw her at the altar steps looking sweetly on him and his
sailors when they came to pray.

All the agony of Lucius came before her, and her spirit was clouded with
gloom.

She threw herself down, and buried her beautiful face, sighing as if her
heart would rend in twain. She was a woman, not a goddess--a woman with
sympathies keen enough to feel for others, even