'Thou hast a benevolent spirit, and thy works betray such. Is it not so?'

'Man should not herald every atom of good he possesses.'

'That is true; but, nevertheless, a man's works reflect his inner being. What is thy name?'

'Chios.'

'A Greek?'

'It is so.'

'Then listen, Chios the Ionian. If thou canst be judged by thy works, judge ye the Creator of Nature by the same law. The God who made the pine-tree shoot forth from the darkling earth and grow upwards towards the vaulted heaven, clothing its foliage with the morning mist as with a garment; winged the great eagle which gazes on the sun, and made him a home amongst the rocks on yonder mountain-side; painted the petals of the rose which scatters perfume on the languid air—He who rolls the waves towards the shore, breaking eternally by His decree; the God who made the loveliest form in which a soul ere robed itself; fills the fruitful earth with food for men—judge Him, I say, by His works, as I have judged thee by thine. Are not His acts benevolent—are they not proofs of love? Thy acts are feeble attempts, and so are mine—little imitations, the outcome of His breath within us. His are boundless, eternal, and show forth His guardian care for all His creatures.'

'I never looked at the matter in this way,' replied Chios. 'Thou seemest right. There must be a great First Cause behind all this, and it does appear His motive is unselfish.'

'In that thou sayest truly, for God is love.'

'What! So have the gods and goddesses of Greece that passion; and, if our traditions be correct, they loved too well, and made fools of themselves.'

'Again, Chios, thou art wise. I say thou art also true; but the loves of the Grecian gods is not the love of my God. The traditions of your Ionian faith are lies. There are no gods but One. The passions imputed to them are but reflections of that which is impure in man. That which dwells in the bosom of the Infinite is purer than the river at its source, rising into light through the fissures of the rock. The best of man's love is selfish, and we exchange love for love. Men do not bestow their affections on those who hate them, but the Eternal One loves all with an amplitude beyond comprehension. "For God so loved the world that He gave His only begotten Son, that we might have life eternal."'

'What dost thou mean by life eternal?'

'This: that thy life may spread out into the great future, and the spirit be young when the stars grow dim and the sun be dead, and knowledge accumulate higher and deeper, joy broaden out as the aeons on aeons pass slowly behind thee, gathering in number like sands on the sea-shore; but never a shadow of death will lay on thee—never thy years will cease to be numberless. Thou wilt begin it, never wilt end it—end there is none.'

'Thou art mighty in thy thoughts. I would know more of thee.'

'Nay, it matters not to thee what of myself. My purpose will be served if I can lead thy mind into the channel of truth. I deem it fair to say, thy face being once set towards the goal, thou wilt pursue thy course till all is well.'

'Thou thinkest too highly of me.'

'No.'

'Well, this I promise, good man: I will give fairest of hearing to thy teachings, and hope thou mayest implant the seed of a good faith, which may spring up and bear a bountiful harvest; but tell me ere we part, in the great life thou speakest of where is my future home? who are my companions?'

'They shall kindred spirits be. What thou makest thyself here determines whom thou shalt dwell with yonder. Thine abode shall suit thy soul. Here men of evil build palaces and dwell therein, whilst others, as pure as the mountain breeze, crawl in and out a hovel or a rocky cave; but in the new life this shall not be. In what part of the mighty universe thou wilt begin thy course I cannot tell—perchance one of those bright orbs of light which shine forth so sweetly may be thy home. Then on and on, through space illimitable, but always nearer the infinite. Here mother and father greeted thee, but yonder, where there is no marrying or giving in marriage, God Himself shall be all in all, and meet thy coming. Take this parchment; I have written it for thee. Read it well; bend thine heart in prayer, seek communion with the Great Spirit that He may give thee light, for without such the words of man are useless. I wish thee well, Chios, and will see thee again.'

As he passed away, Chios felt such a sense of loneliness as he had never before experienced. A faint dawn was breaking, and he murmured: 'Where there is no marrying or giving in marriage;' and the dark eyes of Saronia seemed to gaze steadily into his soul, until he cried: 'We must follow hand in hand through the life that is to be. Light without her would be darkness; life, however long, would be eternal death!'



CHAPTER XX

PLEADING

When Chios next saw Nika there was a look of great anxiety on her beautiful face. She said:

'Well, hast thou seen Saronia?'

He knew not what to answer, and for a moment was silent; but the silence was soon broken by the girl muttering:

'She has refused. Tell me, is it not so?'

'Yes, she has, and I can do no more.'

'What did she say?'

'Her words were few, but to the point, to this effect: she had not cursed thee—if the goddess had, Saronia had not power to revoke it.'

'As I thought. She would not stir as much as the quiver of a leaf to aid me; she hates me. Nevertheless, I am no worse by thy asking, rather better, for a fresh knowledge springs into my mind, whispering I was mistaken. Now I know she loves thee not, or would have granted thy request, Chios. No, there is no love in that great dark spirit. She has no counterpart, no affinity, and must move for ever feeding on herself; and thou, Chios, must see all this as well as I, and own if there were a love in thee for her it is a hopeless one, never to be returned.'

A deep gloom clouded that lovely face, plunging her into deepest thought. Suddenly recollecting herself, she said:

'What answer makest thou?'

Chios looked into Nika's eyes.

'The feud between thee and the priestess I may not judge, but Saronia is not a being who may revolve in an orbit moving in her eternal circle through the ages without passing the path of a kindred soul whom she may love. She will find her counterpart, and love as intensely as her mind is great and her faith strong. Thou knowest, girl, I would not for unnumbered worlds willingly cause thee a sting of heart—I never have; but I am compelled to speak as I have in vindication of Saronia.'

'Thou ever didst it; it is no new phase.'

'No; and it must remain so until this clay of mine is strewn to the winds, and after that, when my spirit is free to breathe the softer air of the summer land, even then would I vindicate her, if a myriad demons, dark and hellish, stood forth in fierce array to damn her!'

'Oh, Chios, where hast thou learned to speak like this? It is so much like her that, if I knew thee less, I should count thee her affinity. Thy look is terrible. Calm thee, my noble brother, for more thou art to me—calm thee, Chios; I fear thee for the first time. Thou wilt not also curse me. Look at me! pity me! I have bared my very soul to thee. Spurn me not. Thy look tells me thou art on the verge of doing so. Let me cling a little to thee, Chios dear. Help Nika. Cheer her, if with only one tender look. I have somewhat learned to bear the curse of Hecate, the curse of loving thee without return of love, but can barely carry it, and often fall. If thou shouldst put out thy spark of coldest charity and leave me in darkness, Nika will fade and die.'

'Cease, foolish maid! why speakest thou thus to me? It is not fair to the Roman to whom thou art betrothed.'

'I know it all. What can I do? Can a maiden love two men? No, I love thee, Chios, and cannot help it. My love for thee grew from childhood. I cannot kill it. The Roman I respect, and may become his wife. Should he chide, I would meet him word for word, and the quarrel would not wound my soul, because I love him not; but with thee all—all is different. Say what thou wilt, raise thy jewelled dagger to slay me, my tongue would be as silent as the breaking dawn—ah, as silent!'

And she bowed her head, for her eyes were wet with tears.

'Come, Nika, no more of this. I am sorry for thee, but thou must not reproach Saronia, who is not here to defend herself.'

'Let it be so, Chios. Thou art kind again. Thy voice bespeaks it, and my heart leaps up like a ship which scuds with the favouring gale on the crests of the foaming sea.'



CHAPTER XXI

THE WITCH

It was night in the city of the Ephesian goddess. Gathered around the glare of a rude lamp sat Endora and a few who had come to consult her. Said one:

'Thou hast heard of the new faith springing up around us?'

'I have.'

'Shall it prosper?'

'I know not,' replied the witch.

'I thought thou knewest everything, nothing being hid from thy scrutinizing gaze.'

'Ah, my sons, there are mysteries which I cannot penetrate! Ask me to call spirits from the gloomiest hell, I might do so, but this new faith relates to a spirit-plane above this earth, where men, they say, are gods. Of this place I know nothing; over it I have no control.'

'What is the emblem of this faith?'

'A cross.'

''Tis easily made. Let us form one and adjure.'

'Nay, nay,' said the woman; 'let such things be.'

'No, no; we will make it, and thou bring out thy potent spells. Let the faiths fight now! To-morrow we shall war with the new one before the sun. The people of Asia are gone mad over the new doctrines, and those infatuated by them will on the next day to this gather within the Agora, burn their charms and amulets, and fires will blaze with fuel formed from choicest books on Asian magic. Up quickly, we say, and to thy work! We fear not. Do thy best, and let the gods of this vile sect do theirs!'

With a raven-clouded brow, the witch brought out her potions.

'What hast thou, woman?'

'Various kinds.'

'Hast thou those which cast out demons?'

'I have.'

'Then stand forth Samo—Samo has a legion in him. Art thou ready, Endora? Proceed.'

Then she chanted:

'Demon legion, listen, listen! Hear the voice of Hecate, Hear the thundering of her feet! I, her minion, bid you tremble Ere ye hasten back to Tartarus.

Seek ye bodies more befitting, With your spirits more in union.

Come ye out, ye reeking fiends, Never more return to hinder This old man from groping forwards To the radiant fields Elysian.'

Putting her hands forward towards the man and lowering them towards the ground, she paused with greedy expectation, whilst the possessed stood still with vacant stare, and naught was heard but the barking of the night-hounds.

'Thou hast failed, mother,' said Sceva—'thou hast failed!'

'Yes, I know—I know! Look ye—look at the cross yonder! See how it streams with living light! 'Tis guarded by spirits of flame more powerful than Hecate—ah, more powerful than Hecate is here!'

'Nonsense, woman! cease thy prattling! Thou hast drunk the Samian wine—thou art weak to-night. We will abjure. Eh? By Solomon! who left us incantations stronger than thine.'

Sceva said: 'Set a basin full of water on the floor. It shall be upturned by unseen hands, that we may be assured of the departure of the demons.'

Then, drawing from the folds of his dress a blood stone ring, he placed it near the nostrils of the demoniac, commanding the legion to come out of him, chanting:

'By the Jewish altar throne, By the temple at fair Salem, By the rites of Solomon, By the sovereign power of Judah, Children loved by God of gods, Come ye forth, ye fiends rebellious, Hasten with the waning hour Back to hell, your endless house!'

Still the look of Samo was one of blank despair. No voice came from him, no paroxysms, no falling to the ground, and the water was unspilt.

Then the men gazed at each other, and Endora said with her sardonic smile:

'What ails the gods to-night? They are powerless, and ye also have drunk the Samian wine.'

'No, we will not yield,' said Sceva. 'Now for the test! Let us adjure by this Jesus whom the wandering Paul preaches, and, by Heaven, we will use the cross.'

Rushing forward, he seized it and held the emblem before the man.

Endora cried out: 'Stay! stay! Do it not! I see one by it who looks like a God!'

But Sceva said, 'Nay!' and cried out:

'We, the holders of this symbol, Bid you by the name of Jesus Come ye forth, and ever be so While eternal ages roll!'

Then a voice came forth from Samo, 'Jesus I know, but who are ye?' and with the wild frenzy of madness he rushed upon them, tearing their garments to pieces until they fled the cave and down the steep sides of Mount Pion towards the city.

The poor demoniac had clutched the radiant cross, and fell with it to the ground. As he pressed it to his lips, a joyous smile swept over his face. He was changed. The tempest-tossed soul was riding at anchor in a haven of calm, and the weary spirit shone with glorious sheen.

Endora had fled with the rest. She hid herself behind some black poplars until the freed man departed. Then she crept back to her cave, and found utter confusion reigning. Things were soon put straight, for she had few luxuries.

She sat down meditating on those passing strange events. Suddenly she started, crying, 'The Cross! the Cross!' and springing forward, she grasped it, broke it to pieces, and flung it from the cave.

'No good can come to me whilst it remains within. It represents not Hecate—of that I am sure.'

Then she sat down again, like a spider in its den, trusting some visitors might come to consult and bring her gain, for the night was clear and the stars shone out like children of the sun.



CHAPTER XXII

THE LOVE-PHILTRE

'Foiled am I on every hand.

'First, cursed by a slave once my slave, and she now the Queen Priestess of the Asian people, with myriads at her feet!

'That is not all. She has refused to aid me, even when Chios pleads for me, and he—what of him? The only man I ever loved, or ever shall, turns from my love and pities me. Curse the pity! Is it come to this, that I, a high-born Roman of the Romans, seek shelter from an unknown slave, and beg for love from a Greek, and be refused? No, no, Nika! Thou must arouse thyself, and thou shalt.

'What I cannot gain by pleadings shall be sought for otherwise. I will not be foiled. I will not die, and mix with every common dust borne hither and thither by the wanton breeze. Again I say no, it shall not be!

'Well then, Nika, bold girl, what wilt thou do? Let me think.

'Of one thing I am certain. Chios loves Saronia. Who knows but that she loves Chios? Of this I am not quite sure. No mortal knows the mind of that strange being. Ah! shall I say that she loves clandestinely and meets her lover?—whirl an arrow barbed perchance with lies and bring her down? That will be revenge, but I may in some way implicate Chios, and, besides, if I cannot prove my saying, I encounter death.

'No, this is too wild. Cease thy flutterings, vain spirit mine! Oh that I had proof of such a thing! Then would I rush to the world, proclaim her fallen, and gloat over her wretchedness. It may come—who can say? But, for the present, I have another course that will strike home—I will do my utmost to bring Chios to my love, and wound to death Saronia.

'I will seek the witch of Ephesus, Endora, and consult her. She will help me, for—gold. I will buy from her the costliest charms. She shall brew, doubly brew a philtre of love, strong enough to warm the icy Chios were he ten times colder than the snows on Tmolus. Neither will I lose time. I will meet her to-night. She lives in a darksome cave on the Temple side of Pion, and nothing shall daunt me, for, as soon as the veil of night is drawn, I will robe myself with courage, and go forth, fearing neither the howling beasts nor the shadowy gloom of the lofty pines. No, though a phalanx of fiends from the depths bar my passage, yet will I press forward like he who fights for life.'

* * * * *

When darkness enveloped the city and mountains, she stole forth from her home on the lofty Coressus, down the mountain way.

The sweet odours of the night-flowers blew gently against her cheeks. She drew her purple mantle around her, and hastened on unobserved.

As she passed the studio gate of Chios, the nightingale sang to its mate, but a chill of horror shook her soul, for well she knew her way was evil.

Moving away, her spirits rose. She left the great road to ascend the side of Mount Pion. Her step was light, and without weariness she drew near the cave of Endora. For the first time fear possessed her. She saw the witch at the entrance. She had, however, gone too far to retract, neither did she want to do so.

Well knowing a girl's appearance in such a place at such an hour could point only to one intent, the woman addressed Nika:

'Tell me, lady, dost thou seek the witch?'

'Yes,' replied the girl, 'and thou art she.'

'Come within, pretty maiden, for the winds are chill and the night-hawks violent. Nay, stay a moment, do not enter now. I will light the lamp.'

As Endora entered she thought within her: 'This is Nika accursed of Hecate, the tyrant of Saronia, the lover of Chios. What darkness is abroad? What comes she for to-night? Shall I slay or play with her? Revenge is toothsome to me. I have her in my power, and could square accounts for Saronia, but what, I wonder, would the priestess say? Perhaps I should get blame or death for my work. So I will let her be, and will draw from her that which I know the dark girl of the Temple will not disdain to hear.

'Now then, Endora, do thy work well. Fear not the Roman lady, and a mine of wealth is thine. But what do I care for gold?'

Nika entered the cave, hewn directly out of the rock. An iron ring was driven into the roof, and a quaint old Phallic lamp hung down just clear of their heads; a winding fissure in the rock let out the smoke. A recess was in its inner part, and a time-worn curtain hid a pallet of corn-leaves. Two old chests, a few stools, a rude altar, cooking-pans, and some quaint trifles spread around made up the contents of the place.

'Sit thee down, lady. Compose thyself. Thou art safe, although the place looks stormy. What seekest thou?'

'To know my fate. I have heard thou art deeply skilled in magic, and I would know more than the present reveals.'

'Wouldst thou know all?'

'How far would it go?'

'To thy life's end—and beyond.'

'Tell me first. You know the old story. Shall I love? whom? when? and so on?'

'Ah, girl, thou hast deeply loved, and he whom thou wilt wed thou lovest not.'

'Go on. Gold I have in abundance, and thou shalt be well paid.'

'No, I will not take thy gold.'

'Why not?'

'I wish it so.'

'Thou shalt have it. I have it by me.'

'I tell thee again, great lady, I will have none of it.'

'Why callest thou me great lady? Dost thou know me?'

'No, I know thee not, but see thy fate. Money from thee I will not take. Thou camest here safely; thou canst leave at once without hindrance.'

'No, no, woman! I have braved the dangers of the night to meet thee, and ere I leave fresh light must shine upon my pathway.'

'Ah, thou art a sharp maid! Now, then, what really is thy business?'

'I require a love philtre. 'Tis true as thou hast said, I marry the man I love not. I would make the one I love love me. Now to thy work! Thou art mightily skilled. I take thee into my confidence. Make the brewage sure, quick, decisive; there must be no mistake about it. First, then, know who I am—Nika, the daughter of Lucius and Venusta, the Romans. You know them?'

'Yes, lady.'

'Hearken again. I love Chios the Greek; I wed the Roman Proconsul because Chios loves me not, but if thou wilt compel him, I sink the Roman and wed Chios. Now I have bared my soul. Thou hast my secret. Keep it and help me, and I will care for thee. Reveal it, and, as I am young and powerful, and by Diana, I swear I will slay thee! Seest thou this dagger with its glinting jewelled hilt? I draw it. See its quivering blade, and beware! Be careful; I am indifferent to all—desperate! We are alone. No wavering will I have. Fulfil quickly my behest, and once more remember: betray Nika, and like a sleuth-hound I will track thee, and like a fury slay thee!'

'Thine eyes are full of fire, young woman, and thy tongue is free. Thou art impelled like a ship before the maddening gale. The witch Endora knows not coercion, and will not be commanded even by Nika the tyrant—tyrant as thou art!'

The girl sprang from her seat, and, with a bound, rushed at Endora, and, raising her jewelled hand, struck with her dagger at the woman's heart; but the strong arm of the witch was swiftly uplifted, and she clutched the wrist of Nika until the dagger fell.

'Fool that thou art to come here in thy madness to take my life! Hast thou not sense enough left to understand thou art but a sapling in my hands? What shall I do by thee? Shall I crush thee like a worm beneath my feet, or shall I let thee live and suffer?'

'Kill me,' said the Roman, 'and end it all! I am tired.'

'No, I will not—I cannot—I have no power to kill thee! Put up again thy tinselled weapon. A halo of darkness like a thousand nights envelops thy soul. Other hands than mine must slay accursed Nika!'

With a shriek the girl fell to the ground, and the dark, fiendish eyes looked down upon her, and the rugged brow of Endora was furrowed like the waves of the sea.

Nika had the glare of the lamp shining on her pale, frightened face, and the witch stood over her in shadow like a spirit of Hecate—a spirit of evil, of lies.

'Thou knowest that dread secret also. Who told thee?'

'No one told me; I read it in thee. My soul saw thine. When thou hast lived long enough, thou mayest see in others what I beheld in thee. Now sit thee on the seat, and let us converse together. My time is very precious; others come. I begin by saying defiance is not for me. Those I aid must be subjective. I am mistress when I deal out love-philtres. Let me clearly understand. Thou requirest one for Chios?'

'Yes. Say, dost thou know him?'

'Just a little; but methinks he is not the man to be trifled with. I advise thee cast adrift this hopeless love, and sow the seed of a new one for the Roman. Besides, Chios may love another.'

'Dost thou think so?'

'I think nothing—I know nothing; I simply suggest the very ordinary remark.'

'Endora, thou art not far away from the truth. I dare not say what I think.'

'Say on; nothing would surprise me after thy mad freak just now.'

'Well, I have a suspicion. He loves a very high personage—a princess.'

'Is it really so, lady?'

'Of course, I am not sure, but Chios always was wide in his actions. I knew a time when I believed he loved a slave.'

'To what slave referrest thou?'

'My slave,' replied Nika—'rather, my slave that was, now the great Saronia, High Priestess to the Ephesian Diana.'

'Nonsense, girl! thou art dreaming!'

'No, I am not, though in dreams ofttimes the truth appears.'

'But there is no truth in this,' replied Endora; 'and if there were, the mighty Saronia is incapable of love.'

'Dost thou know her so intimately as to be able to speak so minutely?'

'Who does not know her? Is she not the most prominent woman in Asia, and as good and lovely as she is famous? Thou canst scout the idea from thy mind of Saronia loving Chios or he loving her. Who is this princess thou hast referred to?'

'A Roman of royal blood.'

'Nika, circle of lies, canst thou think to deceive me, the magic centre of Ephesus? I divine thy thoughts, read thy soul to its very core. Again, let me advise thee, turn from this love business.'

'No! The philtre, brew it, make it quickly, give it me, I beg of thee! I cannot live without Chios. Have some compassion on me. Thou art a woman and wise, and canst see in this I lie not—my soul consumes me! He rejects me; all this inflames me to grasp quickly at this heart I love. In my passion I tried to slay thee. Forgive me, Endora—forgive me; I was mad! If thou dost not help me to win him—mark my meaning—I will not fail to make him so that he shall never love another!'

'Rash girl, thou art truly beside thyself! Philtre thou shalt have, but remember it often turns to madness those you seek to win. What then?'

'What then? I slay myself as an atonement!'

'Again, let me warn thee those philtres do not always take effect. It may be like so much water to Chios.'

'Never mind. Let me try.'

'Then have it thou shalt, but what of the Roman? With such intoxication for Chios, and if the Greek half equals thee, then it would be so apparent to the Proconsul.'

'Never you care! Give me a philtre to cool his love.'

So, without more words, Endora stepped into the gloom of the cave, and, opening one of the chests, took therefrom ingredients for the spell. On the altar the woman laid some embers of fire, and, pouring oil over them, they sent forth a little blaze, shining out and lighting up the faces with a lurid glare, casting dark shadows behind them. For a moment no voice broke the stillness of the place. After the woman had placed her crucible upon the fire, she turned to Nika, saying:

'Listen while I brew.' Stretching forth her bony hands, she said, 'Take this, thou haughty Greek:

'Fish remora, Brains of calf, Hair of wolf and bones of toad, Blood of doves and hippomanes, Scarlet oak and bruised snake, Screech-owl's feathers and marrow of men— Men who have drowned at sea.

Crackle the laurels under the pot; Thrice I stir, thrice I chant the mystic number three. Who shall withstand the philtre Endora of Hecate brews? Simmer, ye potion! Brew, ye philtre! Spirits of Hades, draw out the essence Of fish and beasts, birds and men! Make the broth strong so the sediment worthless may be. Help ye the drawing of love by the lover From Chios who drinks of this mixture of Hell!'

Turning, she saw the girl pallid with fright and shading her eyes with her hands.

'Ah, Mistress Nika, thou art terror-stricken! What if I should clear thy vision and let thee see the spirits surrounding the charmed vessel?'

Endora blew out the light, and the twain were in darkness, except for the glare of the dying embers. The girl uttered a death-like wail, and fell to the ground like a corpse. When consciousness returned, she saw the witch sitting in a cleft of the rock, with a sardonic smile on her face and a small phial in her hand. But it was not filled with the brewage; its contents were harmless. Endora knew her role too well to join Nika and Chios.

As the love-stricken maid grew fully awake, she cried:

'Oh, woman, thou art terrible! Is it thus thou makest the philtre? Had I known so much, my heart would have failed me. Thou art truly of Hecate, and so is Saronia. Is your creed the same?'

'No, proud daughter of Venusta. It is the same, yet not so. Saronia is blessed of Diana; I am the accursed of Hecate. Saronia commands those spirits by her goodness; I draw them by the evil within me. But those shades are the slaves of the priestess, slaves like she was a slave to thee, with this difference: she treats the most abject with compassion; thou treatedst her with——'

'Hush, woman; no more of this! Let her be.'

'Ah, let her be, indeed; thou dost not intend to. As soon as thou art hence, thou wilt do thy best to devour her, as the night-hawk a sleeping bird. But beware, girl! Thou art treading a great abyss, an unfathomable chasm. Be careful, or thou wilt regret thy undertaking! Shall I say more?'

'No, no; the philtre! Give it me, and let me go.'

'Here, take it! But wilt thou not also take this, a counter-one for the Roman, to make him, cool as Chios, burn with love? I have such ready.'

'Let it be so,' said Nika.

Then the witch said:

'Be wise: the rose-coloured phial for Chios; the azure for the Roman.'

But the azure one was the brewage of hell.



CHAPTER XXIII

THE CHARMED WINE

There was great excitement in the city of Ephesus, so strong had the power of the Christians become.

The story of the demoniac also filled the minds of the people, and a great crowd had gathered in the Agora, it being rumoured that converts to the new faith would at noon openly burn their mystic books and publicly renounce their magical rites.

When the multitude of onlookers saw a vast concourse advancing, bearing symbols of the cross, all looked forward to unpleasant proceedings.

As the Christians drew nigh in regular procession, many leading men and women were observed amongst them. They came on, singing hymns to their God and His Messiah, with heads uncovered in the presence of the sacred emblems.

Judah was amongst them, leading a number of men carrying aged manuscripts—manuscripts on Asian magic, written by some of the cleverest men of ancient times.

The books were piled together, each man laying down his load. A torch was applied, and the smoke went up against the cloudless sky. Volumes were thrown upon burning volumes, the flames leaped high, rising into a pyramid of fire, till the whole were consumed.

Judah stood forward, and, bending over the blackened ashes, cried:

'Thus may error die everywhere down the line of centuries, until good shall reign supreme! One God, one Lord, and His Christ, for ever and ever!'

Amongst the spectators were Venusta, Nika, and the Proconsul; but they were not on the side of the Christians. Their policy was one of silence—silence mixed with scorn.

There was, however, amongst that hated sect one whom they well knew—Chios the Greek; he saw them and passed greeting.

All would have passed off peacefully but for a traitor Ephesian who had mixed himself amongst the Christians, and, to raise the ire of the populace, cried out:

'Down with Diana of the Ephesians!'

The mob rushed frantically upon the crowd of book-destroyers, and would have torn them to pieces but for the intervention of the law, represented by an Asiarch who was present. He calmed the tumult, and laughed to scorn the idea of a few misguided men and women trying to eclipse the goddess whom all the known world worshipped.

From that hour Chios was a marked man amongst his fellows. They were somewhat indifferent as to how the rabble moved, backward or forward, but with the Greek it was different—he, the greatest artist of Ephesus, whose inspirations had gone to build up the faith! Had he not painted Saronia, the High Priestess? and did not the picture hang prominently within the sacred precincts of the mighty Temple?

No, he must be watched, secured. If a true charge could not be made against him, then a false one must be born. Better for him to go to the lions and die than live to embody with his great genius the principles of a false faith. Thus did he stand on a volcano of hate.

As the crowd dispersed Chios joined Nika and her friends, and was greeted with a covert sneer.

'Did we not see thee amongst the unclean? Shame, good man, to be in such doubtful company! Soon thou wilt be at their midnight orgies, and come forth an advocate for this pernicious fraud. And who may say but that thou mayest be baptized and paint the Christian martyr in the throes of death by fire or sword, or caged beasts, eh?—and sign thy name "Chios the Christian" also?'

'Come, Chios, put away this melancholy. Come with us; we will cheer thee—make thee Chios again. Thou shalt drown thy sorrows in good Ionian wine.'

'Yes,' said Nika, 'thou shalt have a draught of rare old Chian wine.' And to herself she murmured: 'It shall be rose-coloured, and this day shall be the last he shall think of faith or Saronia. Ah! he shall love madly, and I shall win him.'

Chios made no retaliation, but smilingly said:

'I will accompany you to your lovely home. Come, sweet Nika, let me sail by you. And you, Roman, escort the Lady Venusta. Do not be jealous if I make your Nika happy.'

And they walked the shaded way, passing the stately marble edifices, until they ascended the side of Mount Coressus, the tall pines nodding gracefully as their foliage danced on the breeze.

'Dost thou believe much in this magic?' said the girl. 'I would like thy honest opinion.'

'Well, yes, I cannot say I do not believe in it. Undoubtedly, during the ages man has accumulated knowledge which enables him to consort with the unseen; but at the beginning it was not so, and even now it is unholy to do so.'

'That is quite different to what I expected from thee. I expected thy hand raised emphatically, and "Nonsense! Childish fancies!" to have been thy reply.'

'No, Nika; I search after truth and goodness. Mark ye, all that is true is not good; and truth oftentimes is wrapped in error—wrapped in lies. I take the wheat and throw aside the chaff! I believe it is true. Man by certain peculiar laws may familiarize himself with spirits deeper sunk in misery than himself, and may work with them. Believing this, I do not practise it. It is not good to do so. 'Tis fraught with direst evil, for the spirit here who mixes with such wandering ones sinks to their level and joins them when he passes over the boundary. Men—yea, women!—are like unto their familiar companions; if not so at the outset, will gradually and surely become so. Understand, Nika?'

'Yes, and should feel very timid to move within the magic circle. Thy teaching, thou knowest, is law to me. Therefore I promise I never shall. But was it not a pity to burn all those beautiful books?'

'No; burn the old creed and start with the new, if the new be better. Burn a world if it be vile, and start with a new earth, peopled with a few who know what it is to live well.'

'But tell me quickly, Chios, how wouldst thou screen Saronia? She is the mightiest sorceress in the land! Wilt thou condemn her also?'

'I condemn no one—I condemn creeds which pilot men to evil, and I press forward to gain the purer light. Let each one do the same.'

They passed into the house of Venusta, and, once within the open court, all was changed. On the cool, perfumed air floated the softest strains, flowing like rippling water from cithara, lute and lyre.

'Nika, dear girl, wilt thou arrange that fruit and wine may be set? Give order to thy slave; bid them be brought.'

'Nay, mother, I will see to it all myself. The rich juice of choicest grape stands yonder. Let me fetch it—let me be serving-maid to such noble guests.'

'Wayward child! A whim of thine, I suppose. Go thy way;' and the girl danced off on the lightest foot to the Golden Room.

She grasped the goblets of gold, poured into them the rarest essence of the vine, and looked down into their rosy depths, and saw mirrored there the consummation of her hopes.

'One thing is needful,' said she, 'to complete the chain. Link after link have I forged it, and now for the last to form a chain of love so strong, so powerful as to bind the Greek to me for ever!'

She placed her hand within her girdle of rubies, and drew forth two phials—one azure, the other rose. She held them aloft, one in each jewelled hand. The sunlight came through the windows of coloured marble, and the phials sparkled like the jewels round her waist.

She gazed on them, a smile lighting up her face. On them hung her life's joy—if such a thing as joy could ever warm the heart of Nika, the Roman girl.

Yes, if she were doomed, she would be damned beneath the shelter of Chios.

The goblets lay on the ivory table. One had a serpent around its base, emblem of eternity; into that she poured the contents of the rose-coloured phial.

'This for Chios,' said she.

The other vessel had a chaste design of lilies, into which she poured the liquid from the azure phial.

'This for the Roman. Eternity for Chios—the fading flowers for Varro!'

On a golden plate begemmed with emeralds she placed them, and went forth from the Golden Room bearing the charmed wine.

'Drink!' said Nika. 'Drink joy to the house of Venusta and Lucius!'

And they pledged themselves in Ionian wine.



CHAPTER XXIV

THE MINSTREL

Chios sat lazily in his studio. Work he could not; something had come over him—an influence unseen hovered near. He was not sad, nor was he joyous. There was a deep quiet reigning such as he had never before experienced. He seemed to be moving into a new faith; a serenity of softest light lingered around his spirit—a mild delight into which one would sink until it blossomed into ecstatic joy.

The light streamed through the open doorway, and fell into the shadows which dwelt behind the marble pillars.

He heard soft strains from a distant lyre, and they sweetly moved his soul. The melody of song floated on the evening breeze. He arose from his seat, and followed the strains down between the sweet-scented myrtles to the entrance-gate.

There was a poor emaciated minstrel, singing for bread. The heart of Chios was touched; he beckoned to the man, and brought him within and set food before him.

'I like thy voice, sweet singer. Now thou art refreshed, tell me of thy life.'

'Thou art passing good, kind sir. I was born in Delos, of Greek parents, who died whilst I was yet a child. I was thrown upon the cold world. A sailor crew took me up, and on board a Phoenician ship I sailed the seas to Argos, Spain, and Gaul, and settled in the islands of the West named Britain. There I eked out an existence, a stranger on a foreign shore. I learned the customs of those strange people, accepted their faith, sang their songs, married, lived the life of a Briton until my wife died—I loved her—then my star waned. I fell sick, and pined for my Eastern home, came back to Sidon, roamed through Syria, Galatia, Phrygia, and here; and now, faint, weary, and tired of living, I fain would lay me down and die. But for this cherished lyre and the pleasure of song, I have no other joy save the memories of the past, and would like to rest and join my only love, the British girl of far Bolerium.'

'Ah! a sad story. The same old tale. Love the leveller, affinity, fate—one gone, the other panting to follow. Man, thou hast a good score of summers before thee. Cheer up! Let us be joyous!'

And Chios poured forth some refreshing wine, and bade the minstrel partake of it.

'Now sing me one of thy love-songs, and thou shalt not want for a good meal for many a day.'

'What wouldst thou like, good sir? Shall I sing to thee a British song, a legend of the Saronides?'

'Sing on.'

Then the wanderer rose and flung his worn mantle over his shoulders; his wealth of dark hair flowing from under his cap, and the shadows falling around like a veil of mystery, lowering the tone of his pale but beautiful face.

Raising his lyre, he swept his fingers over the strings, and a burst of harmony arose and filled the marble room; and, as it died away in softest echoes, his sweet, clear, pathetic voice sang forth these words:

'Far away across the seas, Borne by ever-favouring breeze, Skim and plough the ocean's breast To the islands of the West.

Where the blue waves kiss the land, Where the pearls gleam on the strand, Where the vales of Britain lie Neath the ever-changing sky,

Lived a British maiden free— Princess, priestess, both was she, When a Roman with his art Wooed and stole this maiden's heart.

Fled she with him o'er the seas, Past the sea-girt Cyclades, On to Sidon's murmuring shore, But she smiled not evermore.

For the Roman went his way, And was often heard to say How he left beyond the seas The bride of the Saronides.

Grew she sadder day by day, Till the Reaper came that way; Then she raised her eyes and smiled, Died, and left behind a child.'

As the last notes died away, the singer saw a great change come over the face of the Greek.

His head rested on his right hand, and with the other he convulsively clutched a little silver shrine which hung from his neck. He was as pale as death; he moved not, spoke not, until the minstrel said:

'What ails thee, noble lord?'

Chios braced himself together, and replied:

'I was deeply touched with thy tender tale. My soul flew out to Sidon. Tell me, is this story true?'

'Yes, 'tis true. I knew the priestess princess, but the Roman I never saw.'

'What was she like?'

'Beautiful—rarely beautiful! She moved among the Druid bards the queen, like a queen of night—tall, commanding, with great dark eyes like dusky diamonds; deep, piercing were those eyes, set beneath eyebrows fit for Juno. Every lineament of her face spoke forth a soul of souls. When she walked, her robe of white fell like a summer cloud, and her dark, waving hair in masses of beauty moved over her shoulders down to her feet. Everyone knew her, feared her—everyone loved her. In an evil hour she fell, was punished, and died far, far away from her island home.'

'What was her name?'

'Saronia.'

'Great God! Saronia?'

'Yea, my lord. Thou art agitated?'

'No, no, no! Go on!'

'Nothing much remains to be told. This only: They mourned her fall, her loss, her death. The prophets in that land have cast a destiny of her child, and say she shall shine forth as the moon, terrible as the sun; that she shall tread with dignity the floorway of a great temple, and shall minister at its altar; that she shall rise to the greatest eminence, and——'

'Stay! Say no more, man—say no more! Leave her there!'

And a great pain passed over the face of Chios, and he pressed his head between his hands as if to hide from his gaze some hideous vision. Then, suddenly recovering, he said:

'Hast thou that song written in words? If so, sell it to me.'

'I have it,' replied the minstrel; and, taking from his bosom some time-worn parchments, selected one. 'This is it; thou art welcome—thou shalt not purchase. The parchment is naught to me; the words are written on my heart. This copy shall be thine.'

Chios took it, and saw the song was written on the back of an old Celtic manuscript. He cared not for these unknown characters. What he wanted was the song only, and for that he would not take a thousand drachmas.

Pressing some golden pieces into the hands of the minstrel, he said:

'Come to-morrow and sing to me. We are friends. Go now to thine home, for the chill evening air is wedding the night, and thou mayest take hurt.'

When Chios was alone the torrent of his mind was unloosed.

He lit the silver lamp, threw himself on his couch, drew out the parchment, gazed long and intently on it, read it again and again—

'Princess, priestess, both was she,'

until his eyes were suffused with tears, and, overcome with his feelings, he fell asleep.

The next day he awaited the coming of the singer, but he came not. The day following did not bring him. Then he determined to seek him, and, after finding the place of his abode, found the spirit of the minstrel had moved to a far-away shore. The singer had sung his last song on earth.

This was told to Chios by an old woman with whom the minstrel lodged.

'What is thy name, good man?' said she.

'Chios.'

'Art thou Chios, the great artist of Ionia?'

'They say so.'

'Then take those parchments. The poor fellow wished it so. And, in dying, he uttered thy name and another. Poor man! he was only a strolling minstrel, but I verily believe he has gone to the Great. He was no ordinary man. Peace rest his soul!'

Chios went his way, muttering to himself:

'Ah! peace rest his soul. What of my own? Would I could reach Saronia! It is a long time since I met her. I dare not go again. Now my soul is greatly troubled. I am wavering in faith and in doubt as to what is truth. In danger for my doubt; in love with the being I may never meet. For aught I know, death may seal me in oblivion, and there shall be no more of me. All this confronts me, and more. I firmly believe I could place before Saronia strong evidence from the song and the words of the minstrel. See her I must. If I die, one is free—free if I live again! I must survive! Though no light breaks over this great problem, no voice or echoes from the distant land, yet my soul, finer element of myself, whispers, "Thou shalt never die."

'Well, Chios, another attempt. Without a pretext, I never could, but I have a strong case this time. Go I will, this very night. I know the way, and will venture all. The parchments I will not take—I will leave them at my studio.'

He folded them carefully, sealed them with his signet, and addressed them to the High Priestess of the Temple of Diana at Ephesus.

'That is right,' said he. 'If I fail, she will receive them.'



CHAPTER XXV

THE SACRED HOUNDS

When the night advanced, Chios went his way to the Sacred Grove of Hecate. Once near the walls surrounding it, he sprang over and was soon among the trees.

The night was still; no sound was heard save the shriek of the hawk and the cry of the hounds of the goddess.

Which way should he take? Would she come to sacrifice? What should he do—should he give up this foolhardy expedition and retrace his steps? No; a strange fascination drew him onwards. Step by step he moved forward until he drew nigh to the marble Temple of the night goddess—a lonely man amidst the great solitude, and shadowed by the lofty pines. No thunderings or voices or lightnings came from the sombre pile; a great bird wheeled by, nearly touching him, shrieking as it flew like the spirit of a wandering soul.

Whilst wondering what to do, he heard the sound of barking dogs; it came nearer, nearer still; they would soon be upon him. Escape there was none. He looked for refuge: the trees were tall and mighty, and no foothold to ascend. He hid behind the great trunk of the nearest, and was no sooner there than a pack of the fiercest hell-hounds came rushing down the gloomy way. Swiftly they came. The leaders went past him; troop after troop swept by in great masses, until they seemed to be without end.

Verily they had an object, for the foremost ones turned and were coming back towards him. Some had left the beaten track and were scouring between the trees. Evidently they had scented him, and in a second or two the foremost brute stood near him with foaming mouth and eyes of fire.

For a moment only it stood; the next it was upon Chios and received the dagger of the Greek firmly embedded in its heart. Rolling over, it uttered a dismal howl and died. Two others were upon him. He grasped his cloak, wound it around his arm over his hand and thrust it into one animal's mouth, and with one wrench dislocated its jaw. With the right hand free, he met the third and plunged his dagger into its side until it fell back goaded with pain, and in the throes of death sent forth terrific wails, at which the doors of the Temple were thrown open. A light streamed down the pathway, lighting up the fierce combat between man and beasts. The priests uttered a peculiar call, and every hound was immediately obedient; not one left its post, but drew up in a circle around Chios, preventing any chance of escape. Torches flamed, and many men came towards the place of conflict.

One of the priests stepped forward, and beheld the Greek covered with blood, and still clutching his jewelled dagger.

The priest cried:

'What dost thou here on holy ground, surrounded by the hounds of the goddess and the slain around thee? Knowest thou the penalty is death? Surrender! or we let loose the hounds that they tear thee limb from limb. Surrender! we say. Thou shalt have trial, that justice may be done, and we may know whether or not thou camest hither by mischance.'

'I surrender. Not that I fear your hounds or death—I surrender because I have no right here.'

'Art thou a stranger?'

'No.'

'Who art thou, then, besmeared with the blood of the consecrated beasts?'

'I am Chios.'

'Chios!' shouted the priests. 'What doest thou here?'

'That is my business,' replied he.

'Arrest Chios the Greek!' cried the chief.

Chios put up his dagger into its sheath, and, surrounded by the torch-bearing priests and the hounds following, he walked towards the Temple of Hecate. They led him to the rear of the building, and opening the door of a cell cut into the solid rock, they thrust him in, and the hounds wailed and kept guard the long night through.

* * * * *

How long he slept he knew not. When he awoke, a ray of light pierced through between the joints of the doorway, and he knew the day had come, and probably his fate.

* * * * *

It was about the ninth hour, and by this time the priests and priestesses of Diana's fane knew of the arrest of the Greek for penetrating the mysterious grove of Hecate, and slaying the sacred hounds.

What could this strange proceeding mean? All were horror-stricken. None could solve the reason of his being there.

Chios, above all others—Chios, one of the best beloved in Ephesus, guilty of such a thing!

The news of this strange adventure flew from tongue to tongue until it penetrated the conversation of all the people, from the place where the philosophers gathered to the Acropolis on the summit of Mount Pion, where the Roman soldiers guarded the heights.

From the Temple of Apollo at Claros to the shrines at Phygela nothing was so much spoken about as the sin of Chios the Greek.

As the day grew this event gained in intensity, and many were the interpretations of his presence there.

The people were divided. Those who were devout worshippers of the great goddess, jealous of his leanings toward the Christians, said it was a conspiracy on behalf of the hated sect to burn the Temple, and he ought to die. Others were more lenient, and looked suspiciously on his being within the Sacred Grove, and thought when on his trial all might be explained. But should it not, then he should stand to the death against the wild beasts within the common arena.

The priests of the Temple would show no undue haste with the trial of such a citizen; but feeling ran high, and the ultra-devotees demanded immediate action.

He was brought before the august tribunal. Many eminent men offered to speak for him. Chios was obdurate, and, when faced by his accusers, and asked to explain his position, he politely, but positively, refused. Nothing was left for him but death, and he was condemned to the lions.

When the sentence became fully known, and, moreover, that he refused explanation, the populace were more than ever confounded, and desired to solve the problem. They well knew that, the decree having gone forth, he must die; and rightly, said many, or the Sacred Grove would never be safe from robbers or midnight prowlers, and the glory of the Lady Saviour be impaired.

* * * * *

Chios was handed over to the authorities and lodged in a cell within the walls of the great theatre, to be brought forth on a day near at hand, when many who were condemned should fight to the end.



CHAPTER XXVI

ON THE VERGE

The judgment pronounced on Chios reached the house of Venusta, and daughter and mother were sore distressed, for the Greek was as one of themselves.

Nika was broken-hearted, and resolved to save him. What should she do? To betray intense emotion might convince Varro of her love for the ill-fated man. The Roman was aflame with love, and wrapped in a mantle of jealousy, since he had received the philtre from her hands which was destined for Chios.

She would approach him gently, and artful as a snake.

When he came that day, she said:

'Hast thou heard of the arrest of our friend?'

'Heard of it? Why, nothing else occupies the Ephesians, and by this time all in Lydia, Phrygia, and Caria, as well as Ionia, have heard of the sad event. Whatever does it mean, Nika? Canst thou solve it, noble Venusta?'

'We cannot,' they both exclaimed. ''Tis a most mysterious affair. We are as much at sea to understand as thou. Surely he must have had a motive for being in the Sacred Grove.'

'I am dying to know,' added Nika. 'Our sex is full of curiosity. Could he not yet explain and stand a chance for his life?' said she. 'In one way he deserves his fate: he was always queer and headstrong; but it is a frightful thought to imagine him torn limb from limb and expiring before our eyes. Can anything be done? Perhaps if I saw him,' continued the girl, 'I might extract from him that which he refuses others. There was a time when I had some little influence with him, but that was long, very long ago. Nevertheless, if thou considerest it feasible, and get me audience—private audience, mark you, for he is not the man to unburden his mind to the public gaze—I will see him, weak creature as I am. I will do my best; and see what thou canst do, if thou dost value his life.'

'Good! Well said, Nika! The Proconsul will do what he can. Hold thyself in readiness for the morrow. I will advise thee further on this matter.'

The Roman was sad at heart, and soon took his departure, brooding deeply over that which Nika had advanced. True, he was the first in the land, but could he interfere? He would try. Chios was a noble fellow, and would lay down his life rather than be guilty of a mean act. There must be some great mystery behind it all. What could it be? Chios the generous, truthful, straightforward, faithful friend guilty of death—guilty of death for being within a grove called 'sacred,' and for killing a couple of infuriated dogs! Nonsense! He was not a robber or incendiary. Nothing of the kind; and he would never see the life-blood of such a man flow out to the earth, and his dying spasms make sport for the people of Ionia. No! To work! He knew by virtue of his rank he could see him, and see him he would, and extract from him sufficient to save him.

* * * * *

When the morning came, the Roman Proconsul saw the Greek in his cell. He was not depressed, nor did he display any fear. He rose to meet Varro with his usual courtesy, and, reaching out his hand, grasped firmly that of his visitor.

'What doest thou here, Chios?'

'Varro, thou art not a stranger in Ephesus, and hast heard all. Nay, more, thou knowest the seal stamped on the decree which bears my fate.'

'Chios, noble friend, I have come to do my best to save thee. Thou dost not wish to die? art not tired of life—of the green fields, the summer sea, the fleeting clouds of the setting sun? Nature has still a charm for thee, I trust? Thou hast not darkened thy spirit with heinous sin, hast thou?'

'No.'

'Then thou hast a friend in Varro.'

'How canst thou help me?'

'This way: give reason of thy being within that fatal Grove. I know thy reason will be good, and thou shalt appeal to Nero. I will see to it that it shall be so, and, further, that thou shalt live—free! Now, my dear fellow, speak out, and give me hope. Speak, Chios; the house of Venusta languisheth to aid thee. Nika would have come, but I thought it better to be here myself.'

'Varro, friend in adversity, I have nothing to say. My life is forfeited. Let it go. Man dies, and it is well to die with conscience clear. Mine is so. No more have I to say but this: My studio—see it safely closed. Let no profane eye dwell upon my leavings. When I have passed, enter thou, take charge, sell all thou findest there; the proceeds give to the poor of this great city. My parchments are there, and, as directed by their superscription, deal with them.'

'Chios, do not throw thy life away! This very direction now dropped from thy lips tells me thou couldst not be guilty of crime. There is some deep-hidden secret resting within thy bosom dearer than life. I respect thy courage, and will say no more. As a Roman soldier, I dare not.'

'Thanks, Varro, thanks. Thou art right in being silent.'

'Farewell, noble man; I leave thee to thy fate. It will do thee justice. Farewell, farewell, Chios!'

* * * * *

When the Roman had gone, and Chios was alone, the pent-up feelings of the Greek broke loose.

'No,' cried he, 'I will never betray Saronia! A thousand deaths, but not that! She knows; she understands! When I die for her I can do nothing greater. She will feel lonely, but love me more intensely.'

* * * * *

Varro went directly to Nika, and told her of his visit.

'Fool!' said she. 'Let him die! If he count not his life worth having, why then should we trouble?'

'Nay, child, do not be so rash,' said Venusta. 'Do not speak so lightly of his fate. We do not know all. Chios is never the man to act without great reason. He will weigh all consequences.'

'Well, well; I will see him myself as a last effort,' said the girl. 'May I, Varro?'

'Do as thou wilt, but ere thou goest make oath on the honour of a Roman lady thou wilt give him nothing to frustrate the decree. The dishonour would be on me.'

'Agreed! When may I go?'

'At once. Every moment is precious.'

She was soon ready, and without any apparent perturbation accompanied her lover to the place where Chios was confined.

As she drew near her face became blanched with terror, and she leaned on the arm of Varro for support. Her courage gave way, and for the first time she betrayed a great agitation.

They traversed the line of underground cells until they came to the one in which Chios lay. The Proconsul communicated his wishes to the guard, and Nika was conducted within, and left with Chios.

When he saw her he started back as if stung with a poisoned arrow. His nature told him there was cause to fear. Did she suspect his secret? For a moment both were silent, then he exclaimed:

'Nika, why comest thou to such a horrible place? Hearest thou the roar of the angry beasts calling for their prey? Art thou not afraid?'

'No, Chios, I fear not, only for thee. That has brought me here. I mean to rescue thee. Have I not told thee aforetime that that love which would not dare to die for another is not worthy of the name of love? Thou hast ever known I love thee. Again, without I dissemble. Here I am once more unrestrained. I will speak freely to thee. No one will hear. My Roman has given me liberty to hold free and secret communion with thee. Now, Chios, we must not bandy words. My visit must necessarily be brief, and I have come to aid thee. What wert thou doing in the Sacred Grove? Tell me, dearest Chios. Tell me lies or truth, anything that I may have argument to plead for thee.'

Then answered he:

'Lies I cannot speak; the truth I will not.'

'Then I know, and will answer for thee. I will say Saronia sent for thee, and thou wert there with thy full heart to do her bidding. That she deceived thee, or failed to come in time—hence thy position.'

'Woman, thou liest basely! Thou wouldst tear down the honour of an innocent person, and build on the ruins the gratification of thy selfish passions. Leave me! leave me at once! Why hast thou come here like a sinuous serpent, gaudy and beautiful, but carrying a venom dipped in hell? Wert thou to attempt this base calumny, I would nevertheless die, and dying, shower my curses on thy head, on the head of a perjurer, murderess of the deepest blackness! Now go; thou hast had the mind of Chios. Chios can meet his fate. Let Saronia rest; she is innocent of my act.'

'Dear Chios, do pacify thyself. I was probing only to know the truth. Forgive Nika!' And she threw herself upon his neck and wept as if her heart would break.

Chios put her from him, saying:

'A dying man cannot afford to carry with him a stormy spirit. When I was born, the day, the wise men say, was sunny, the leaves were green, and blossoms were on the citron-trees, the birds sang, the winds were hushed, and all nature smiled. On suchlike day my spirit came within the infant form. I came peacefully, and would leave the same, only with a purer soul. Our life here should be an evolution of goodness. Hast thine been so, Nika?'

She started back in tears. It seemed but a few short years when she was a child, and with swiftness her mind flew back across the summers. She saw herself darkened and deformed, and she held down her head in silence.

'Ah, girl! my words have touched thee. Let them be my legacy. Remember them when Chios is gone. Try and be a nobler girl.'

'Oh, Chios, cease, or I shall die! What shall I do for thee?'

'Nothing! Take my forgiveness, and go. Go to thy betrothed.'

'Is this all? Am I also to be sent empty away? For the sake of all who love thee, for the sake of Ephesus, I beseech thee, speak out! Thou art not guilty, canst do no wrong. Thou art a sacrifice; thou shalt not die!'

She fell upon her knees, grasped his hands in hers, bathed them in the tears which fell from her eyes, saying:

'If thou dost die, I will die also. If I cannot lean upon thee here, I will pass with thee, follow thee like a faithful dog through the land they call spirit. I have no one but Chios—thou art a mighty soul. In the great beyond I can look to none but thee. Oh, Chios! oh, love!'

The heart of the man was melting, but his spirit remained firm.

'Poor Nika! would I could help thee! Were it in my power, I would place thee in a holier sphere when thy new life comes, but such is not for me to do. I cannot assert my own destiny, much less make thine. Thou wouldst not help thyself by dying. I fear our ways lie apart. Thou wouldst not care to follow me. My affinities are not thine, and beyond they would mingle less. Now let me dry thy tears;' and taking her richly-embroidered handkerchief, he brushed the pearly drops from her cheeks, raised her hand to his lips, and kissed it.

'I will not leave thee, Nika, when I have passed through the vale, but will do my best to lead thee through the gloom.'

He took her to the door of the cell and left her.

She staggered forward, lost her consciousness, and fell. They took her to the fresh air, and after a while she looked upwards towards the skies, murmuring:

'He is gone away. I saw him leave in the midst of a company of gods. There—there is the rift in the blue where he entered. Chios! Chios! Thou wilt come again—again,' and she fell back as one dead.

Quickly they bore her home. Agonizing fever set in with fury on her until all hope of recovery was despaired of. They watched beside her. Still there came no turn for the better.

One ever-recurring delirium was hers, and ever and anon she looked up with vacant stare, saying:

'The pillar has fallen, the tree is stricken, but thou hast promised to return to me!'

After the Roman had taken her to the house of Venusta, he went again to Chios, and told him of her unhappy condition, imploring him, for the sake of Nika, to free himself, as that seemed the only chance of saving her life, for his name was always on her lips.

With profound sorrow Chios bent his head and groaned within, saying:

'Merciless Fates! What have I done to cause such suffering?... My heart sorrows nigh to breaking yet my mind is fixed as a rock dashed upon by many waves. I cannot alter my decision. I die, even if my own eternal destiny were shattered by my refusing to live! All will be well with Nika. She will live, but I shall be led to death. Farewell! My farewell to Venusta, Nika, and glorious Ephesus with all its beauty! Remember my last testament, and, should thou see an aged man with deep intelligence stamped upon his brow—a foreigner, and chief of the Nazarenes (thou wilt recognise him; he is without counterpart)—tell him I die in peace. His God is mine. Again farewell!'

The two men gazed at each other for a moment. The Roman spoke first:

'Chios, thou art mad! Why, this alone would damn thee tenfold! Thou art lost! The die is cast, thy doom sealed. Unhappy friend, I pity thee, pity thee from my very heart. Farewell! Farewell—for ever!'

And Chios was left to his fate.

* * * * *

The great day had come. Thousands were pouring into the city. It was the day when the Ephesian theatre would be filled with spectators to witness the slaughter of the condemned—slaves, felons, Christians, and Chios—to make sport for the people.

The beasts had been kept without food the preceding day, and were ravenous. The multitude had been gathering since sunrise, and already the theatre was filled. Never in that generation had such a noble citizen as Chios been offered to the lions; and many hard-hearted and stoical ones said, 'He ought to die,' but when the testing time came, many, many of the people would have saved him.

A rumour had floated, propagated by the witch Endora, that she had watched Chios going towards the grove, followed him, and saw him meet a Greek girl, a lady of Ephesus. Finding they were discovered, both hid within. She saw the girl leave, but Chios remained.

The people, ready to believe almost anything for the sake of Chios, accepted this trumped-up story, saying: 'After all, it was a love affair, and Chios was not the man to reveal the lady's name.'

Thus the feeling grew, and if the populace by vote could have saved him, they would have done so; but this was not possible.

So the time wore on, and the multitude became more excited. The hour arrived. Soon the High Priest and Priestess would arrive and the slaughter commence.

Chios was being brought forth to the arena just as the High Priestess Saronia passed him. Her garments nearly brushed the doomed man, and their eyes met. She halted and spoke to her escort, saying:

'Who is that man?'

They answered: 'Chios the Greek, the great Ionian artist.'

With an unbending look she beckoned him towards her. With voice clear as a silver bell, she said:

'Of what art thou accused?'

'I am accused of being within the Sacred Grove of Hecate, and slaying the hounds.'

'What brought thee there?'

'Madam, that is a part of my crime, that I answer not such questions.'

'Thou art a bold man, but courageous. Hear me, Chios the Greek! By virtue of my office, High Priestess of the Lady Saviour, I pardon thee. Thy crime is not of the State, but of the Temple. Release him! Let him go!'

Those close at hand heard the words of Saronia, and the news passed round the great building like a flash of light, and a mighty shout of consent rang out like the sound of stranded waves, for they loved Chios at heart.

Even the dignity of the Proconsul forsook him for once. He arose, rushed out, sprang into his chariot, and drove quickly to the house of Venusta.

* * * * *

Nika lay motionless in sleep, one hand hanging listlessly over the side of an ebony couch; her hair, glinted with sunlight, partly hid her face.

The Roman whispered softly:

'Nika, Nika dearest, art thou better?'

Her eyes opened, and she looked up with a stolid gaze.

'Yes. What didst thou say?'

'Art thou better, Nika?'

'Perhaps so. I dreamt a lovely dream.'

'And what was it?'

'I saw Chios walking unfettered amongst the sons of Jove. He said, "I am free; I will come to thee."'

'But he is not dead, my sweet girl.'

'Not dead? not dead?'

'No; he is pardoned.'

'Pardoned?' cried the maid, springing to her feet and looking around as if still in a dream. 'Pardoned? Pardoned? Why? By whom?'

And her soul awoke to consciousness.

'By Saronia, the Arch-Priestess of the Temple,' said he.

'Saronia! Saronia again? Again?' Then the eyes of Nika fell, and a blush like the first crimson streak of morning swept over her cheeks, and she said: 'It must be so. Chios—Saronia.'



CHAPTER XXVII

ONE FOR ANOTHER

'Now thou art well again, Nika. After thou hast rested, come with me, and see the sports. There will be rare tactics with the retiarii armed with nets. One of the swiftest, most agile, will to-day compete with a burly warrior. Beside, there will be a fight with beasts—a lion will be loosed on a Christian. Come with me into the chariot. Let me escort thee thither.'

'No; I am weary. Free from the long dreary sleep, I would now remain here, thinking over the strange past. I wonder if Chios will call.'

'I cannot say, dear. I left him near the arena pretty well exhausted.'

'Well, go thou; enjoy the day. Thou lovest manly sports. As for me, I will remain here and drink in the sunlight.'

'No; a little excitement may do thee good. The drive will invigorate thee.'

'If I must, then let it be so,' replied the girl, and she ordered her slaves to prepare her.

The sun was declining, more than half its course had run, when Varro and Nika left the house. Once fairly under way, they soon arrived at the scene of carnage.

The Proconsul entered, and moved to his seat of honour; by his side sat his betrothed. Venusta was also there, and was surprised to see her daughter. A few words of explanation soon put matters right, and they settled down to enjoy the competitions.

The day was sultry, but streams of water rippled along by the gorgeously-decked dais of the Proconsul, and statue fountains on either hand at intervals poured out delicious perfumes, cooling the air, and making it fragrant as an orange grove when the trees are laden with blossoms.

In a place of honour set aside for her sat the High Priestess of the Temple of Diana. Over her head was a canopy of gold, and great masses of fragrant flowers were piled up in tiers behind her.

She wore a dress of silk dazzling in whiteness, with stars of gold. On her head rested a jewelled crown, and her forehead blazed with the diamond moon crescent. Her face was severely beautiful; her eyes were fixed gazing into illimitable space, bearing an expression akin to pain, plainly telling she was there in her official capacity and found no enjoyment.

Two attendant priestesses stood by with fans of richest make; another held the insignia of the High Priestess, whilst many others, all beautiful girls of Ionia, waited for her whispered bidding.

The eyes of the noble-born Roman Nika instinctively wandered in the direction of the priestess, and were riveted on the sublime splendour of Saronia.

Nika feared, yet desired, to exchange glances. She was strangely fascinated, but the woman she hated with such deadly hate saw her not, or appeared to be ignorant of her presence.

This aroused a deeper feeling in the daughter of Lucius, and she disliked Saronia more intensely. But for fear of those dark, mysterious eyes she would have by this time been using her as a point for criticism.

The Proconsul wondered why she was so silent, and ventured to say:

'Seest thou the great Saronia? Is she not a mighty being? And fancy, she, above all others, the saviour of the life of Chios! What a glorious thing is power, and charity to use it!'

Then for the first time did she speak of her, saying:

'Art thou too in love?'

'Dearest Nika, explain.'

'Explain? I mean what I say. The brilliancy of Saronia dazzles, shall I say, unhinges the mind of Varro? Remember, do not forget, thou admirest a woman who was once my slave.'

'True; I understand it all, and wonder at thy speech.'

'Thou needst not. Men are all alike; they worship every beautiful woman—Paris a Helen, Antony a Cleopatra, and Varro a Saronia, whilst I, for my own part, see in her only a deep, designing woman, part tiger, part serpent. The tiger hath a lovely sleek body with a furious heart; the serpent for its creeping artfulness is a byword for deceit. Do not get within her fatal circle, or she will sting thee to the very core, and then devour thee. I hate her! She has robbed me of my peace, and now, with deep conceit and hellish pride, she deigns not to turn her head this way. Oh that I had the power to curse her!'

'Fear not, Lady Nika; she will not capture. Thine eyes of blue are sufficient magnets to hold me. Besides, she is bound to chastity, and is as cold as moonlight on a snow-clad mountain.'

'Yes; and thou mayest add, "In her bosom is a hidden fire like an ice-capped volcano with a burning heart." Beware, beware of Saronia! she has two natures, extreme in both. Is Chios here?'

'Yes, Nika; he has just entered.'

'Canst thou point him out amongst the thousands?'

'He sits by the arena-gate.'

'I wonder why he is there. Ah, now I see him! He recognises! I will raise this crimson oleander to my lips, and greet him with a smile. I have a motive; do not be jealous, Varro. Wait!'

Just then the eyes of Saronia turned, and she saw the girl salute Chios, and a darkness like storm-clouds on the top of the mountain spread over the face of the priestess.

Nika looked defiantly—for a moment only; the withering glance of the Temple virgin blanched the Roman's cheeks with fear.

* * * * *

A great shout went up from the multitude; a man of sober mien was brought into the arena armed with a dagger only. Proclamation said this troublesome Christian would fight for his life and faith with one of the fiercest lions of Nubia. He was aged, and took little notice of the proceedings. The people said it was a murder, and not a fight. Even Nika pitied and Varro wondered.

Presently a messenger came to the Proconsul, and handed to him a message. He read it hastily, and answered 'Yes.'

'What news?' said Venusta.

'A request only from some young athlete offering to do battle for yon poor aged man. It gladdens me; we shall see better fighting. The old man can offer no resistance.'

'Who offers?' said Nika.

'I know not. Some courageous fellow, well paid by the Christians, I presume.'

They had not long to wait. The fighter stepped forward, cast a hasty glance around, bowed towards where Saronia sat, then to the audience.

For a moment the people were speechless. Then a cry arose: 'Chios! noble Chios!'

The Proconsul half arose in his seat by way of protestation, as if he would forbid. 'Twas too late. At that instant a lion was loosed, and rushed into the arena.

Chios stood unmoved. The beast hesitated for a moment, the light striking his flaming eyes. Then, with a roar which reached afar, he crouched, he sprang, but missed his prey. Uttering discontent, he lashed his sides with fury, and sprang again; but the Greek was too quick for him, and a loud shout of applause went up from the mighty concourse. 'Well done, Chios!' resounded from every side.

One person only was unmoved—one only of that vast assembly was calm. On the face of Saronia was the calmness of death. Her eyes followed the infuriated brute, and when she caught its glance it drooped its head and pawed the earth.

The third attack, and man and beast rolled over in mortal combat. For a while nothing could be ascertained for the dust which arose. Suddenly the lion fell, with a rivulet of blood issuing from his heart.

Chios arose from the ground, covered with the life-stream of his foe.

Then great shouts of acclaim rent the skies.

'Well fought!' cried they. 'Long live Chios of Ephesus!' resounded through the mighty building.

'Chios deserves a crown of gold,' said the Proconsul.

A perfect reaction set in, occasioned by the heroic act of the Greek. Those who were loud in protestation turned like a summer wind from south to west. All antipathy had fled. The manliness portrayed, risking his life for another, brought full reward. Even the great Saronia approved the act, and admired the man.

Chios took little heed of it all. He quietly slipped aside, and went to his beloved studio. There he always felt happy.

And now he rested, musing upon the past.

'I have not succeeded in my mission,' said he, 'but it shall be accomplished.'

Outside his gate was a poor-looking aged man, inquiring the way to the studio of the great artist.

'Yonder through the myrtle-trees it stands,' replied a passer-by; 'but do not intrude. Let him rest. He is weary from doing battle in the arena on behalf of a worn-out Christian. Do not trouble him for alms. If thou art hungry, here is a trifle to buy bread and fruit.'

'Friend, I am not a beggar; I am he for whom he fought. I must see him.'

'Well, go thy way; thou hast good need to thank him.'

Up the path, through the rows of trees, up to the marble entrance, noiselessly moved the aged man, and gently tapped at the door.

Chios arose and opened it, saw who was there, and cried:

'Welcome, welcome, good fellow! Come within. Glad am I to see thee safe and well.'

Judah, full of emotion, staggered rather than walked to a seat, weeping as if his heart would break, and, looking up through his tears, exclaimed:

'Chios, blessed art thou! The blessing of one who was ready to perish, the blessing of one who speaks for his God, the blessing of God, rest ever on thee!'

Chios spake never a word; his heart was full.

'Speak to me, Chios the Greek; let me hear thy voice.'

'I know not what to say,' replied Chios. 'I reckoned thy life worth a thousand of mine, and fought that thou mightst live and do work for thy Master.'

'Chios, neither silver nor gold have I to give thee.'

'I require neither.'

'Good. Nevertheless, thy reward awaits thee; thou wilt receive it later on. We fight under the same banner; we shall meet in the same celestial city—the city whose builder is God. The dayspring will glint its glory over thy pathway, and the lustre of morning will bathe thee in heaven. The wings of thy spirit, now folded beside thee, shall spread out their pinions and waft thee o'er oceans of splendour illimitable, urging thee onward from brightness to brightness, raising thee higher and upward and higher till thou standest a messenger swift for the Deity, holding communion with God the Eternal. This is thy destiny. All will be well. Farewell, noble warrior; thou shalt war for the New Faith. 'Tis rumoured the Proconsul promises thee a crown for thy valour. Be thou faithful unto death, and thou shalt receive a crown of life. I have said my thanks. Good-bye—good-bye, noble Chios! My stay in Ephesus will be brief, but thou shalt ever remain in my thoughts, and my prayers shall go forward for my beloved friend.'

* * * * *

Once more Chios was alone.

'What a noble fellow is that old man—prophetic, powerful, good,' he mused. 'I believe in him. What he says is true. I am altered. A light steals through me—a river of peace winds kindly through my soul! May his blessing rest on me, and all his words be fulfilled.

'But what of Saronia? We are no nearer by the advent of this strange faith. Shall we part? Must our communion end? Like two swift ships upon the ocean, greet with welcome hail and pass away across the trackless deep, each going its own particular way? No, no, no! this cannot be. We twain must sail the same course, and at night or in storm give aid. We must move together, the same pilot be ours, enter the same haven, dwell in the same invisible land.

'But can this be? I am drifting, drifting from the old landmarks. She steers by her well-known beacon fires—I strike out alone across an unknown sea in search of a shore which may not exist, or, if it exists, I may never reach it.

'Oh cruel doubt! Oh the struggle for truth! Oh to know what to do!'



CHAPTER XXVIII

SPIRITS OF THE DEEP

Saronia the priestess was agitated. She had resolved in her mind the events of the past few days. 'Why was Chios within the grove?' She could solve the problem—foolish man! 'What demon prompted him—what fiend lured him to the verge of death? Could I but see him, warn him, for my prescience tells me he will attempt this thing again. Rash man! How can I save him? Whom can I trust? None!

'Here am I surrounded by the glory of the mightiest Temple, with pillars rising to heaven, whose summit is crowned with the grandest sculptures of Greece; but the birds which nestle in their carvings are freer than Saronia. I walk in power; every behest is law and none dispute me—yet, for the one great thing I would do, that I dare not! What, then, is power—queenly power like mine? It is hateful. I sought it not. It was thrust on me, and I wear it like a band of iron. But cease—cease, my soul! Well dost thou know the smouldering fire of life's accumulated love for Chios pent up within thee. Why dost thou tempt blasphemous Saronia to further sin? Hush! Down, dark spirit! quail, ye rebel fires, smoulder till my days be spent—then, with the freedom I covet, I will luxuriate in joy. Until such time, let me fulfil my destiny. Come on, ye clouds of darkness, hide him from my view! Soul, hear me! Crush to the lowest ebb this fire which rises ever and anon into fiercest flame, and combats with my reason! I am divided against myself.

'O goddess, hear me! Let my prayers like sweet incense rise! Bring me strength!...'

A sullen roar of distant thunder broke on her ears, as if the gods were speaking from the mountains, looming landward past the Temple city.

'Hark! Diana's voice! I will to augury.'

She sped to the window. Naught through the darkness could she see. Suddenly forked lightning winged its course to the east, another flash swept nearer by, and the pillars of the great Temple stood out, lit up with fiery hue. The night-birds flew in wild commotion, shrieking as they went, crying with a solemn wail.

She stood back. Too well she knew the meaning of those sounds, the language by which the invisible speaks to the mortal.

A lightning-flash was seen across the Temple door, another line of fire crossed it from an opposite direction, as if a mighty guardian spirit stood there with sword aflame. A burst of thunder and a mighty crash, and she knew the building had been struck with an arrow from heaven.

Her reason pointed a power at work who dared insult the sacred place—some god greater than Diana warred against her, degrading her home. This was the augury the priestess drew, and wondered greatly at the sign. It was a revelation to her—a spark of virgin light, dim as the faintest dawn. But it shook her faith, and she spread out her hands as one wandering in the night.

Then she laid herself down in the gloom, and her spirit moved out to Chios. She longed to speak to him.

Across the open window a shadow passed blacker than the darkness. She arose and looked out; naught could she see—all was silent. Then a faint voice like a whisper came from the parapet:

'Saronia, it is Chios!'

And in a moment he was beside her, and, throwing aside his mantle, stood before her in all his strength.

She was appalled, but knew it would be death to both to utter the faintest cry, and with horrible calmness the priestess murmured:

'What, by all the gods, brings thee here?'

'Love! Life without seeing, speaking to thee, is worthless—worse than valueless! I scaled the Parabolus walls, I did the same by yonder parapet; and, by Jove! were they high as Mount Coressus, I would have come. I passed the guards, saw the Temple's frowning brow; the lightning lit my path, and the thundering echoes on the midnight winds were music to my soul. I gazed towards this resting-place, and, when the heavens were lit with flame, saw thee standing alone at the window. 'Twas enough for me. My spirit bounded here long before my body came. Didst thou not feel my influence?'

'Yes, I thought of thee; but thy presence here is too awful to contemplate.'

'No, no, dearest love! this is our fate. Thou art my complement; we cannot long remain asunder. Thine essence is a part of myself; thou art my affinity, my counterpart, that which makes my whole, my sun. Remove it, and the whole system is shaken, and wanders into chaos and oblivion. Had I a thousand lives, not one should be reserved; all should be thrown into the balance for thee.'

He caught her in his arms, and his lips met hers.

'Darling, art thou safe whilst I am here?'

'I am safe from mortals, but not from the ire of the goddess. Her great invisible spirit cannot be deceived; all that is enacted here she knows and records.'

'True, dearest; but even Venus loved.'

'Yes; but Diana is cold and chaste. This night bespeaks my fall. To love is disobedience; for me to disobey is dire rebellion.'

'No, no, girl! it is not so! it cannot be! The Being who created us implanted this love; it cannot be born of sin. Man makes laws, and man often breaks them, without calling down the anger of the gods. Lovest thou me, Saronia?'

'Ah, Chios, that is my crime! What brought thee to the grove of Hecate?'

'Thou.'

'I?'

'Yes, Saronia—to see thee on a most important errand. I strove to find thee in the wood.'

'I thought as much. What was thy mission?'

Resting himself beside her on a couch o'erlaid with gold, he said:

'Canst bear surprise?'

'I think so.'

'Then hear;' and, whispering softly, he said: 'One day there came a man, a minstrel, to my home; sad as the waves telling story of storm were the strains of his song, and sweet as the clear running brook were the sounds from his lyre. He sang of a far-away land. Hast thou heard of the lonely West, where the isles of the Britons lie circled in purple mists?'

'Yes.'

'He sang of a princess priestess who stood at the shrine of their gods. He spoke of a Roman who came to that land and stole the pure heart and the hand of this beautiful girl, and bore her away to the Cyclades, and, further away, to the Tyrian Seas, to a resting-place in Sidon.'

'And what became of her, Chios?'

'Thou shalt hear. Their wedded life was brief. The Roman forsook her. She died of a broken heart, and her babe survived.'

'How sad!' said Saronia.

'Wouldst thou know the name of the British girl?'

'I would.'

''Twas Saronia.'

'Saronia!' gasped the priestess, and, uttering a piercing shriek, she fell back into the arms of Chios.

He heard footsteps approaching. He knew he must fly. Then, laying her on a couch, he kissed her lovingly, saying:

'We must part, but will meet again. Saronia, dost hear me? I will see thee at the Temple service: an oleander in thy bosom, I come to thee; a myrtle flower, thou comest to me. Farewell, loved one!'

And he plunged into the darkness, and the thunders roared as if the heavens would rend themselves in twain.

* * * * *

The priestess nerved herself and reclined listlessly. When the attendant priestesses entered, she was pale as the white silk enfolding her form.

'What ails the noble lady?' said the foremost of the beautiful maidens.

'It has passed,' said Saronia. 'Summon the guard; bid them go to the Temple and bring me word if disaster has fallen and smitten it. Hear ye the mighty voices of the gods! See the quivering messengers of fire! Haste away and bring me news!'

Then, falling into one of her mysterious reveries, from which no priestess dared disturb her, they noiselessly glided from the room one by one, each bearing a lamp of gold, and Saronia was left alone.

Soon the priestesses returned, with blanched cheeks, saying:

'Lady of Diana, at thy bidding the priests, with escort, entered the sacred edifice, and discovered through the roof the fated bolt had flown, wrecked the altar, and rent the veil; but the statue of the great goddess remains unscathed. The watchmen are dead, blackened corpses. The High Priest, chief of the Megalobyzi, has gone to the Temple. What shall we do?'

For a moment the mighty priestess was lost in thought—'twas but for a moment; then she raised herself and regained sublime dignity, saying:

'Altar and veil, the work of men's hands, are resistless as man to their fate; but the image of she who is highest in heaven and strongest in hell is safe from the lightnings, the storm, and the warrings of all the invisible hosts which encircle us. And we, her own children, are safe in her keeping—safe in the shade of Diana Triformis. Pour out your prayers, let them rise to the heavens and spread round your homestead and down to the underworlds. Pour out oblations! Chant forth your praise-hymns for mercy on mercy rolling forth like the surging of mightiest billows! Farewell, maidens of the goddess, farewell!'

Saronia that night was sleepless. She had again saved the life of Chios. She had dissembled. To have done otherwise would have been to be the murderess of Chios. Thus thought she.

By the light of the dimly burning lamp she looked like a tigress at bay. Great clouds flitted sullenly across her face, and her eyes were dark as the night, and darker they grew till the shadows which fell on her were as light to them.

The lamp burned low, but she heeded not. Its dying flame pleased her, and the shadows grew deeper, until her form sank into the darkness.

A great war raged within her. It was a battle-ground on which were arrayed spirits, good and evil, fighting for the citadel of her soul. The light from her mistress goddess was hidden, and reason cold as snow sat enthroned upon that lofty mind.

Her duty was to serve as heretofore, but lurking love rose up in mighty flame enveloping her. She could see Chios only, feel the pressure of his lips, hear the sound of his voice speaking of love, of the minstrel and of the bride of Britain.

'Who was that mysterious woman named Saronia?

'What caused that strange suspicion and the piercing cry? None other than that by some peculiar affinity I realized that it was she that bore me into this world.

'Oh that I could have heard the end of the story! Cruel destiny shattered me at the harbour mouth, and I lie stranded a lonely wreck on a bleak shore and tainted with rebellion. Shall I fail now? No; Saronia shall build another self out of the shattered parts. I will arise, shake the stupor from me, stretch out my arms into the darkness. I will robe for divination,' and pointing her finger towards the dead lamp, it sprang into flame, casting a glare around the room.

She arose, cast aside her snowy dress of whitened silk, draped herself in darkest shade, girt her waist with a diamond zone black as night, over her shoulders a mantle hung—a mantle of sable hue studded with stars of silver and gold. On her breast she wore the Ephesian symbols of Air and Water, Earth and Life, and Death. Her eyes shot glances like serpents at war, her bosom was upheaved with the strongest emotion, and she moved to the place where the burning lamp stood, seized it, and stood by an altar raised to the goddess of Hades.

For a moment only was she motionless; then she raised high aloft her jewelled hands, brought them to her lips, kissed them to the Queen of Heaven, and stretched them earthwards to the underworld—to Hecate, the Queen of Hell. Her head lay back; her eyes shone out with mystic sheen; her raven tresses trailed the floor; her gloomy garments lay in graceful folds, dark as the midnight sky without a star or moon, and standing thus, she invoked the goddess Hecate.

This done, she lit the altar's sacred fire, and incense burnt until the room was filled with odour and the light from the golden lamp grew dim.

Her lips parted, and a silvery voice issued, murmuring softly:

Spirits of the mighty ocean, Ye who lie beneath the waters, Down—down—fathoms deep! Ye who roam 'twixt here and Sidon, Ye who lure the ships to ruin, Ye who haunt the fated vessel, Lighting up her masts and cordage With your quenchless tongues of fire; Stormy petrels of the sea-foam, Swiftest of your countless legions, Appear! Appear!

'Ye are come! Hear me!

'A Roman bore from Britons' land, stole from thence with artful wiles, a maiden blessed with rarest beauty—cheeks of olive, raven hair, eyes of darkest midnight hue, soul as pure as the morning light. He took her to Sidon. He left her—he left her and her child. Troop your way with speed to Sidon. Solve the story which I tell you. Bring me answer from Phoenicia.'

The spirits of the deep bent low their shadowy forms; one by one quickly snatched a grain of burning incense from the altar fire, placed the sparks upon their awful brows, rose together, met the storm-wind howling fiercely, passed it faster than conception, skimmed the foaming crests of billows, swooped again o'er struggling biremes with their crews of doomed seamen. Flew they on with awful swiftness, till the air waves left behind them wound the earth in many circles, till the silent city Sidon slept beneath their hovering pinions; glanced their message to the spirit—Spirit Prince of Ashtoreth. Gained their answer, sailed they westward to Ionia, faster than the coming day-dawn; stood before the great Saronia; hailed her priestess of Diana; whispered forth with frightful meaning:

'Thou thyself, from her begotten, standest first amongst all women. She, thy mother, princess, priestess, died uncared for, unbeloved—died a rebel to our goddess, worshipping the Jewish Christ—name we scarcely dare to mention.'

Saronia beckoned them away, and when they had fled a tremor seized her; she staggered to a seat, muttering:

'I, also, am a rebel, and worship Eros.'

Starting to her feet, she said:

'Who is this Christ?'

Stretching her arms out into the darkness, she cried:

'Saronia, Saronia, the Saronide, where art thou—my mother who bore me? Let me touch thy hand! Speak to me—to me!'

But she grasped the empty space; not even the echo of a whisper fell. Then she cried again:

'Thou art beyond my plane, or thou wouldst come to me. Thou art greater than I. Hear me, ye spirits of the air! Listen, spirits of lands and seas! Hearken, ye spirits of Elysium and Hades! Here in the darkness, here in the womb of night, here near the birth of the early dawn, here with a soul storm-tossed and driven, I swear I will find her. Her God shall be mine, and where she riseth I will follow. O light, O truth, O love, let me climb your ladders of gold!'

The dawn appeared in the east, breaking the gray on the ocean's rim, and the birds sang forth from the trees in the Sacred Grove.



CHAPTER XXIX

MYRTLE AND OLEANDER

'Varro, goest thou to the Temple to-day?' said Nika.

'Yes, dearest; Chios is to receive the golden crown and freedom of this city.'

'I trust those honours will sit lightly on him.'

'Fear not, Nika. He is very stolid. Really, I do not know what has come to him.'

'I do,' said she laughingly; 'he is in love.'

'Nonsense! Nothing of the kind. He would never trouble about such a thing.'

'How knowest thou?'

'How do I know? Well, really, I cannot answer thee, but thou must know if a man loves there must be something to love. Chios is a confirmed bachelor. I believe he almost hates women; that is to say, as far as making himself a lover. I never even knew him to commit the crime of a weak flirtation.'

'Ah, ah! So much for the reading of a man's mind by a man. Let a woman make up a man, and thou, mighty Roman, read the minds of women. 'Tis more natural.'

'Well, Nika, I must away. I must leave thee. The time is short, and I have business of my own before I go to the Temple. There will be no public demonstration. Chios wishes it so.'

'Before thou dost depart, listen. Something befitting the occasion comes to my mind. Send him a message of congratulation. Write it with thine own hand, and seal it with the stamp of Imperial Rome. He will cherish it more than many crowns.'

'Very thoughtful of thee. It shall be done. The presentation takes place within the Temple. The great priestess will be there, and, if I can so arrange, she, his preserver, shall present it. Nice idea, is it not?'

'Very.'

'Wilt thou witness the ceremony, Nika?'

'No.'

'Farewell, sweet one; I will return before sundown and tell thee all the news.'

* * * * *

The crown and the congratulation were conveyed to the Temple. When the High Priest read the request of the Proconsul, that Saronia should present them, he smiled, saying:

'Let it be so.'

Saronia thought the request unusual, but the priest said:

'Foster the whim; no harm can come of it.'

* * * * *

It was past noon; the great sun shone out with refulgent glory. Not a cloud sailed the azure depths. The birds were sheltering from the heat between the branches of the citron-trees. An eagle flew by flapping its wings as Chios met the Roman at the gateway of the Sacred Shrine.

They moved towards the marble steps, and, ascending past pronaos and vestibule, went within the gates of ivory and gold and stood near the altar, around which were gathered the High Priest and Priestess and their attendants.

The Proconsul and Chios bowed lowly, and were saluted in return; and the proclamation ran:

'WHEREAS Chios, the Greek of Ephesus, has proved to the people of this city that he possesses heroic courage, and used it well on behalf of a fallen enemy of the Sacred Goddess:

'The PROCONSUL, the COUNCIL, and the PEOPLE request that he be crowned with a crown of gold, and, FURTHER, that the Act be proclaimed at the festival of Dionysus at the Great Theatre, and a place be allotted to him in a Tribe and a Thousand: