ndition."

At the noble confidence thus displayed, at the sudden apparition of so
much lofty and virtuous beauty, the king's countenance was confused, and
its angry expression abated. Had his spirit been less stern, or the look
she gave him less firm in its purpose, he would have loved her. But
haughty beauty and haughty beholder are seldom drawn together. Glances
of pleasure are the baits of love. And yet, if the ungentle king was not
enamoured, he was impressed. He was bent on gazing at her; he felt an
emotion of delight.

"Say on," he replied; "I accept the condition."

"Behold then," said she, "the offender. The deed was the work of this
hand. It was I that conveyed away the image. I am she whom you look for.
I am the criminal to be punished."

And as she spake, she bent her head before him, as already yielding it to
the executioner.

Oh, noble falsehood! when was truth to be compared with thee?[2]

The king was struck dumb. He did not fall into his accustomed transports
of rage. When he recovered from his astonishment, he said, "Who advised
you to do this? Who was your accomplice?"

"Not a soul," replied the maiden. "I would not have allowed another
person to share a particle of my glory. I alone knew of the deed; I alone
counselled it; I alone did it."

"Then be the consequence," cried he, "on your own head!"

"'Tis but just," returned Sophronia. "Mine was the sole honour; mine,
therefore, should be the only punishment."

The tyrant at this began to feel the accession of his old wrath. "Where,"
he said, "have You hidden the image?"

"I did not hide it," she replied, "I burnt it. I thought it fit and
righteous to do so. I knew of no other way to save it from the hands of
the unbelieving. Ask not for what will never again be found. Be content
with the vengeance you have before you."

Oh, chaste heart! oh, exalted soul! oh, creature full of nobleness! think
not to find a forgiving moment return. Beauty itself is thy shield no
longer.

The glorious maiden is taken and bound. The cruel king has condemned her
to the stake. Her veil, and the mantle that concealed her chaste bosom,
are torn away, and her soft arms tied with a hard knot behind her. She
said nothing; she was not terrified; but yet she was not unmoved. Her
bosom heaved in spite of its courage. Her lovely colour was lost in a
pure white.

The news spread in an instant, and the city crowded to the sight,
Christians and all, Olindo among them.