to the binding up of the
broken-hearted and offering forgiveness to her most violent foe.

A mysterious link had suddenly snapped in her chain of destiny. What it
was she could not divine.

The death of Nika moved her in a peculiar manner, such as nothing else
had done since the deep of her being was broken up by the call of the
great spirit to follow the goddess.

It was a dark chapter in her life's history, and she earnestly desired
to know its hidden meaning; she would wait patiently until the time came
when all should be revealed.

She arose, looked towards the sea, and saw in vision the white sails of
the fleet of Lucius bringing him to port.

A storm crossed her face, as when the icy winds of winter furrow the
waves and clouds swoop down to wed the foaming main. Her whole nature
trembled like the shaken hull of a tempest-haunted ship. The spirit of
Hecate was on her, and the voice of the terrible goddess rang out in her
soul:

'Tell him the curse hath killed her! Say the gods are avenged!'

* * * * *

When the evening had come, Saronia retired and lay on a couch of black
marble. The windows of the room were thrown open to admit what little
breeze there was; the honeysuckle and jasmine climbed the walls like
rival lovers, and breathed their perfume on the priestess.

She looked towards the Temple; the sun threw rays aslant the roof and
pillars, and it shone resplendent in the dying day.

In the rear of it sprang up against the sky tall trees of cluster-pine
and ash, further away rose the great mountains, and behind them the
golden gates of the setting sun, and beyond all, soft clouds cradled in
light floated like temple domes of a great spiritual city.

The soul of the priestess was drawn away towards the glorious vision,
and for a while she had forgotten herself. Darkness had changed to
light, and she longed to be beyond all the uncertainty of this troubled
existence, and move into a sphere where hope might be lost in
love--where she would see things as they are, see them with the truth of
a risen soul, not as she now saw them, with a soul straining to gaze at
spiritual beauty through a mass of corruption, a shroud of earthly
mould.

Her spirit struggled to free itself, to spread out its pinions and soar
into an element of its own; but the time had not yet arrived for the
prisoner to be free--her prison was bolted with bars of brass.

As the shadows deepened on the fl