e sapphires in each purple fillet on her ankles.

"Now, dear Vergilius, tell me, why do you love me?" she said, throwing
herself upon the cushions near him with glowing cheeks.

"Because you are Arria. Because Arria is you. Because I must, for
your pure and noble heart and for your beauty," said he. "When I look
upon you I forget my dreams of war and conquest; I think only of peace
and love and have no longer the heart to slay. Oh, sweet Arria! I
feel as if I should fling my swords into the Tiber."

"Oh, my love! could I make you throw your swords into the Tiber I
should be very happy." Her eyes had turned serious and thoughtful.
Her girlish trickery had come to an end. Vanity retired, now, and Love
had sole command.

He put his arms about her and rained kisses upon her face, her hair,
her eyes. "Say it all again, dear Vergilius--say it a hundred times,"
she whispered.

"My dear one, I love you more than I can say. Now am I prepared to
speak in deeds, in faithfulness, in devotion."

"But, once more, why do you love me? Why me?" said she, moving aside
with an air of preoccupation, her chin resting upon her hand, her elbow
upon the gauze pillow of rose leaves in her lap. "Is it my beauty more
than myself?"

"No," he answered; "your beauty is intoxicating, and I thank the gods
for it, but your sweet self, your soul, is more, far more to me than
your grace and all your loveliness."

She had dreamed of such love but never hoped for it, and now all the
pretty tricks she had thought of had become as the mummery of fools.
She sat in silence for a little space, her eyes upon her girdle, and a
new and serious look came into her face.

"I shall try, then," said she, presently--"I shall try to be noble.
But shall you--shall you truly throw your swords into the Tiber?"

"Would I might," said he, sadly. "And now I must tell you--" He
paused, and Arria turned quickly, her lips trembling as her color faded.

"In three days I go to Jerusalem," he added, "by command of the
emperor."

"For how long?" she whispered, her eyes taking years upon them as the
seconds flew.

"For two years."

Quickly she hid her face in the cushions and her body quivered. That
old, familiar cry, which had in it the history and the doom of Rome,
rang in the great halls around them--that cry of forsaken women.

"The iron foot is upon us," said he. "Do not let it tread you down as
it has other women. Be my vestal and guard the hol