m behind this profusion of rarest art, now lying like so much
rubbish, a Roman was dragging a woman who appeared quite dead. Her hair
hung in masses over her face, hiding a part of it, hiding a face which
was crimson with blood. Her garments were torn, and the soldier threw
her down close to where the two chiefs stood.

'Thank the gods!' muttered he.

'What hast thou, fellow?' said Acratus.

'A woman,' replied the man.

'Yes, yes, I know; but where didst thou find her? I thought all those
maidens netted long ago.'

'I will tell my noble master. In hunting through those rooms behind the
altar, I came quite by chance upon a cell which had escaped the notice
of our soldiers when they threaded their way through the winding
passages below. I burst open the door, looked in, and saw that beautiful
creature. "Ah, ah!" said I. "By the gods, I have a royal prize!" But, as
I advanced to take her, I found her a perfect demon of the bad type. I
tried soft words. She replied: "Stand back! I know your mission." I
threatened, and made to take her. She arose, flew at me with terrible
menace, such as I shall carry with me. I seized her roughly, but, with
lightning swiftness, she plucked the dagger from my belt, and would have
pinned me to the wall had I not unhanded her. She flew through the
winding passages like a forest-hound, up the stairway to the rooms
behind. Then out she passed, and stood just there behind the statue. I
followed, knowing I should capture her. I heard her cry, "Oh, woe! Oh,
woe! Oh, woe!" Then she stretched up her arms, both of them, high aloft
in the air, as if she would reach down something from the skies, and
said, "My God! my God!" and fell to the ground. I took her up, thinking
it was a faint; but, finding her dead, I dropped her there, and wish I
had never seen her!'

The man passed on, leaving Varro and Acratus in deep converse. The quick
eye of the Proconsul saw the form of the woman move. He went towards
her, actuated by some strange fascination, and spoke to her, but no
voice came back. Then he lifted the waves of hair from her face and
cried:

'O ye gods, it is she! It is Saronia!'

He bent low and whispered her name. Her eyes opened and gazed on him,
and then at the desolation around her, and she closed them again as if
in sleep.

'Hi! Here fellow, fill yon golden bowl with water! Quick! quick! and
follow me, or I will kill thee for delay!'

Varro took Saronia in his arms, and bore her with