ontains Rome's safety, nay! existence! One whisper breathed
abroad, or lisped in a slave's hearing, were the World's ruin. But be it
as you will--as you think best yourself and wisest. If you will, tell
Hortensia."

"I shall tell her, Paullus. I tell her everything. Since I could babble my
first words, I never had a secret from her!"

"Be it so, sweet one. Now I implore you, hear me to the end, before you
judge me, and then judge mercifully, as the Gods are merciful, and mortals
prone to error."

"And will you tell me the whole truth?"

"The whole."

"Say on, then. I will hear you to the end; and your guilt must be great,
Paullus, if you require a more partial arbitress."

It was a trying and painful task, that was forced upon him, yet he went
through it nobly. At every word the difficulties grew upon him. At every
word the temptation, to swerve from the truth, increased. At every word
the dread of losing her, the agony of apprehension, the dull cold sense of
despair, waxed heavier, and more stunning. The longer he spoke, the more
certain he felt that by his own words he was destroying his own hope; yet
he manned his heart stoutly, resisted the foul tempter, and, firm in the
integrity of his present purpose, laid bare the secrets of his soul.

Beginning from his discovery of Medon's corpse upon the Esquiline, he now
narrated to her fully all that had passed, including much that in his
previous tale he had omitted. He told of his first meeting with Cataline
upon the Caelian; of his visit to Cicero; of his strange conversation with
the cutler Volero; of his second encounter with the traitor in the field
of Mars, not omitting the careless accident by which he revealed to him
Volero's recognition of the weapon. He told her of the banquet, of the art
with which Catiline plied him with wine, of the fascinations of that fair
fatal girl. And here, he paused awhile, reluctant to proceed. He would
have given worlds, had he possessed them, to catch one glance of her
averted eye, to read her features but one moment. But she sat, with her
back toward him, her head downcast, tranquil and motionless, save that a
tremulous shivering at times ran through her frame perceptible.

He was compelled perforce to continue his narration; and now he was bound
to confess that, for the moment, he had been so bewitched by the charms of
the siren, that he had bound himself by the fatal oath, scarce knowing
what he swore, which linked him to