that you were in the garden."

Perolla frowned. Then, suddenly, he remembered Marcia, concerning whom
his suspicions were not yet entirely removed, and he raised his hand in
warning.

"There is a woman here--a Roman woman, who tells a strange story," he
whispered. "It is better to be discreet."

"The time for discretion is past for Decius Magius," said the other,
wearily. "Let him at least speak freely upon his last night of
freedom."

Marcia came forward.

"Is it permitted a Roman maid to honour a Campanian who is true to his
city's faith?"

"Assuredly, daughter," replied Magius, quietly. She could not see his
face except that it was stern and gray-bearded; but, kneeling down
beside him, she took his hand and poured out the story of her life, her
sorrow, her resolve, and its prosecution. Here, at least, was a man
upon whose faith and judgment she could rely, and his manner grew more
gentle as she made an end of speaking.

"So you doubted her truth, my Perolla," he said softly. "That is
because you have not felt her hand tremble, and because you are too
young and too much of a philosopher to judge of the honesty of a
woman's face. The same instinct that tells me, doubtless warned
Hannibal also that this was not a courtesan, much less an immodest
woman well born, and, least of all, a coward who would flee her city,
or a traitress who would betray it. You will know more of such things,
my Perolla, when you learn to study them less." Then, turning to
Marcia, he went on: "What you have designed, my daughter, is noble and
worthy of your race--and yet, while I commend, I am slow to encourage.
Are you strong to carry your sacrifice to the uttermost?"

Marcia shuddered.

"Yes, if there be need," she said, in a low voice; "I look to no
marriage now. Is not the Republic worthy of our best?"

"It is a hard thing," he said, doubtfully, "for a woman well born and
modest to belong to a man she hates."

"But it is easy to die, my father, as died Lucretia."

Decius Magius looked at her. Several times his lips moved as if about
to speak, and, once, he turned away sharply for a moment, as if to gaze
up into the night.

"Tell me, my father," she said earnestly, "do you give me no hope? Is
not my beauty worth the purchase of a few paltry months? And then
comes the winter, bringing safety."

Still Magius said nothing for several minutes, and when he spoke, it
was in harsh, quick tones.

"Yes, it is all pos