In the Temple Varro, the Proconsul, and Acratus held counsel. They were standing near the altar, with the last light of evening falling upon them.

Near to the fallen image of the goddess Diana were the smaller statues in marble, bronze, silver, and gold—lamps and paterii, vases richly chased and candelabrii, instruments of the Temple, costly golden, jewelled things, all were piled up in heaps.

From behind this profusion of rarest art, now lying like so much rubbish, a Roman was dragging a woman who appeared quite dead. Her hair hung in masses over her face, hiding a part of it, hiding a face which was crimson with blood. Her garments were torn, and the soldier threw her down close to where the two chiefs stood.

'Thank the gods!' muttered he.

'What hast thou, fellow?' said Acratus.

'A woman,' replied the man.

'Yes, yes, I know; but where didst thou find her? I thought all those maidens netted long ago.'

'I will tell my noble master. In hunting through those rooms behind the altar, I came quite by chance upon a cell which had escaped the notice of our soldiers when they threaded their way through the winding passages below. I burst open the door, looked in, and saw that beautiful creature. "Ah, ah!" said I. "By the gods, I have a royal prize!" But, as I advanced to take her, I found her a perfect demon of the bad type. I tried soft words. She replied: "Stand back! I know your mission." I threatened, and made to take her. She arose, flew at me with terrible menace, such as I shall carry with me. I seized her roughly, but, with lightning swiftness, she plucked the dagger from my belt, and would have pinned me to the wall had I not unhanded her. She flew through the winding passages like a forest-hound, up the stairway to the rooms behind. Then out she passed, and stood just there behind the statue. I followed, knowing I should capture her. I heard her cry, "Oh, woe! Oh, woe! Oh, woe!" Then she stretched up her arms, both of them, high aloft in the air, as if she would reach down something from the skies, and said, "My God! my God!" and fell to the ground. I took her up, thinking it was a faint; but, finding her dead, I dropped her there, and wish I had never seen her!'

The man passed on, leaving Varro and Acratus in deep converse. The quick eye of the Proconsul saw the form of the woman move. He went towards her, actuated by some strange fascination, and spoke to her, but no voice came back. Then he lifted the waves of hair from her face and cried:

'O ye gods, it is she! It is Saronia!'

He bent low and whispered her name. Her eyes opened and gazed on him, and then at the desolation around her, and she closed them again as if in sleep.

'Hi! Here fellow, fill yon golden bowl with water! Quick! quick! and follow me, or I will kill thee for delay!'

Varro took Saronia in his arms, and bore her within one of the Temple rooms, bathed her cheeks, whispering softly:

'Thou art safe, Saronia. Thou shalt go to Chios!'

At these words, fresh life came back, and she took the hand of the Proconsul in hers, and, looking into his face, she said:

'Tell me, is it all a dream, or am I mad?'

'No, thou art not mad or dreaming. What thou seest is real. The Temple of thy goddess will be bereft of its riches to adorn the golden house of Nero. This now is nothing to thee. As I have said, thou shalt go to Chios—to Chios! Rest tranquilly; I will guard thee. When evening settles down, I have means of escape for thee.'

He sent for wine and fruit and raiment. Having done this, he despatched two messengers, one to Endora (for Saronia wished it so) and another to Chios. He charged the soldiers:

'Bring the old woman from the cave on the top of yonder hill! Be careful no evil befall her, or thou wilt suffer.'

The night was now closing in, and fires were burning high upon the mountains and the plain, showing where the people had encamped, and on the stillness of the evening air ever and anon arose loud shouts and wailings.

'Who is that beautiful woman in yonder room?' said Acratus.

'That is naught to thee,' said the Proconsul.

'I know, I know, but Nero would rather possess her than all the riches of Ephesus or Pergamos.'

'Curse thee for the thought! Hold back thy words! Silence! In Ionia I am master.'

'I hope no offence, most noble.'

'No, not this time, but be careful for the future. Thou hast to sack Pergamos yet, and—well, never mind, enough has been said.'

At this stage an aged woman came towards them; tottering with fear, and led by two Roman soldiers.

Acratus turned away muttering:

'He shall pay dearly for his speech.'

'Thou hast brought her safely. Thanks for thy vigilance amidst the crowded streets. This way, woman—this way, Endora. Come with me. Here is Saronia; be careful of her; take her to Chios! Tell him I will follow as soon as I can. Again, on yonder couch sufficient raiment lies, brought from Saronia's own wardrobe. Divest her of those soiled garments, disguise her, and lead to where her lover lives.'

'What of the rabble?' said Endora. 'The streets are filled with soldiers and rioters, the ground strewn with slain. May we stay here under thy protection during the night?'

'No; I go hence shortly, and to-morrow it will be worse. Go. Tell it not—to-morrow will be worse! I will give you guard, but thou must be careful, nevertheless, that Saronia be not known, or the people will kill her. No harm shall come from my soldiers. They shall be faithful. I also will be faithful, for Chios's sake, as long as the grass grows and the rivers flow to the ocean. If any injury come, it will be from the hands of the furious mob. I give her into thy charge, and will send guard for both. I can do no more. Again, I say, be careful!'

Out they went into the darkness—out into the storm of blood.

For a while all went well as they passed between the lines of the watchful Romans. They had traversed most of the way and were close to the studio of Chios, where the troops were thinnest. There the people gathered together in angry crowds.

Suddenly the ruffians saw the women, and cried out:

'Here are two Ephesians in the pay of the Romans! Spies, traitors, guides to the Temple plunderers! Kill them!' And they fell on them with mad fury.

Instantly they were surrounded by the soldiers and encircled as in a net.

Exasperated and maddened by the day's proceedings, they would die in the attempt to kill the women. Roughly handled as they were, one of them had time to draw a dagger from his belt and aimed to plunge it into the bosom of Saronia. The glistening blade was falling towards her, but quicker than its descent was Endora, who threw herself between them and received the blow. She fell, crying:

'She is young; take me!'

And, as she lay dying, the murderer also fell, pierced by a dozen spears.

The people fell back, shouting:

'Great is Diana of the Ephesians!' Whilst the savage troops replied gruffly: 'But Nero of Rome is greater!'

Endora spoke a few words—dying words—and her head fell back into the arms of Saronia, and all was over—Endora was dead.

They were about to proceed and leave the body, but the queenly form of Saronia asserted itself as she stood with eyes dilated and form erect, crying:

'Soldiers of Rome, bear carefully with you this dead body!'

'No, no!' they replied. 'Hasten away to safety. The dead suffer not.'

But still she stood transfixed, and, raising her voice, she said:

'Do as I bid you, or I refuse to move; and if I remain, it is at your peril.'

They saw in her no common person, and reluctantly obeyed, one taking his cloak and wrapping it round the corpse, whilst others took their scarves and bound their spears together, and placed her on them as a bier, the torches, reeking with flame, casting over her a lurid glow. And thus they hurriedly passed away, with a circle of shields and glittering spears protecting the living and the dead.

The road became clearer, so that when the soldiers arrived at the garden of Chios no Ephesian eye witnessed them pass up the marble steps into the lonely sanctuary.

As they entered, and laid the dead burden on the floor, Chios saw Saronia.

'Great God, what is this? What does it mean?'

'Hold thy peace,' said she. 'Not now. Later thou shalt know.'

The soldiers withdrew, having accomplished the safety of one only. A deep silence for a moment reigned. Neither spoke. Both hearts were too full for speech. Chios took the hands of Saronia and clasped them within his own, and with silent joy gazed into her face.

She broke the silence with an agonizing cry. Going towards the lifeless form, she uncovered the cold, dead face, and, stooping, kissed the snowy brow, sobbing:

'Oh, Endora, Endora, thou hast proved thy love! Thou hast proved thy love to me!'

'Endora!' exclaimed Chios. 'Is it Endora?'

'Yes, it is Endora. She received the death intended for me. Look well at her, Chios. Gaze on her peaceful face. Gaze on her face. Dost thou recognise who she was? It is meet thou shouldst know, for she loved thee dearly.'

Chios was like a man stupefied with wine.

'What dost thou mean, Saronia? I know her not, save as the mountain sorceress.'

'True, Chios. That is the answer I might have expected. But one day, not so very long ago, I visited the Ephesian shore, and on a rocky eminence where an altar stands—— Thou knowest the place where the seas dash up?'

'Yes, I know, Saronia.'

'Well, there I met Endora—quite by chance—and spoke to her, and found from her that she at one time lived at Delos.'

'Delos?'

'Yes, Chios, Delos. And thou hast heard of Myrtile the priestess?'

'Yes, that I have. I heard fully of her when last I visited the isle. A sad story.'

'Yes, 'twas sad, and strange to know that Endora was no other than Myrtile.'

'But, Saronia, she died.'

'No, no! She lived on unknown, and this lifeless form is she.'

'Poor Myrtile!' said Chios. 'I wonder what became of her child. A boy it was.'

'I wonder,' said Saronia. 'Didst thou ever know thy mother, Chios? I have never heard thee speak of her.'

'Oh, Saronia, Myrtile—Endora—asked me the same. Is there meaning in all this? What may it portend?'

'It means, Chios, that she is thy mother.'

'Mine? Mine? My mother?'

'Yes, thine, Chios.'

He went out amongst the myrtle-trees; he breathed the calm, cool air. Along the Temple Way he saw the lights of torches burning brightly. The people had thinned away, and exhaustion like a funeral pall hung over those remaining. Many slept in the streets, some overcome with rage, others with wine, whilst from distant quarters now and again rose the stifled cry of angry men and frantic women.

Chios paced up and down, lost in reverie. He heard not the call of the Roman guard or the groaning of the city. He was absorbed, thinking of his dead mother and of the safety of Saronia. What could he best do for her? Should he go to Lucius and ask his help? He knew that quickly the Roman fleet would put to sea with the stolen treasures of the Temple, and Saronia would be sought for and slain. To stay in Ephesus was certain death for her. In Rome perhaps worse awaited her. Should he hire a trading ship and escape? He was a freed man, and could leave the city unquestioned in time of war or siege. No, that would not do. He could go himself, but could not take another. Besides, the mariners of the craft, if such proved available, would know her, and refuse to aid the fallen rebel priestess. Well he knew those sailors, fit for strife or storm, had the warmest corners of their hearts filled with admiration for their faith and their goddess. He saw no alternative. Go to Lucius he must.

The day was dawning; the first light was uplifting. He went noiselessly within his apartment and gazed upon her face. She slept.

Carefully retreating, as if an empire depended on his footfall, he left the room, secured the door, hastened down the streets. As yet the people were not astir. Until he reached well into the city near the Odeum, he had little opposition, but there the troops questioned him. He had special business with Lucius, the commander of the Roman fleet, and must see him.

'Thou canst not,' replied the guard. 'He sleeps on board the warship, and will not come on shore until the sun is high.'

'I tell thee,' said Chios, 'I must see Lucius immediately.'

'And I tell thee it is impossible.'

'Nothing is impossible to a soldier! Nothing shall be impossible to me! Let me pass to the wharves, or I will see the Tribune. Is he here?'

Chios claimed from the Tribune a right, as a free citizen, to pass to the port, which was granted.

He sent by boat a message to Lucius that he would speak with him, and a reply came back requesting the Greek to come at once.

They met; their hearts went out to each other. Were they not old and dear friends?

'What brings thee here, Chios? Art thou persecuted by this unseemly tumult?'

'No, Lucius. Not so. I came to plead for a helpless woman.'

'Who is she?'

'Saronia. Once thy slave—thy——'

'I cannot help thee.'

The face of the sailor grew clouded, dark, and a fire rose up and glittered through his eyes.

'No, no, no! I cannot help! This girl, like an evil star, has rested over my home—that home, once filled with joy, now desolate, the loved ones gone away. Would that I had never heard the name of this mysterious being, Saronia! She has engendered strife, murdered the High Priest, and cut adrift from her faith. Let her answer for her crimes as my child did.'

'No, no!' exclaimed Chios. 'She did no murder. Oh, Lucius, my friend, listen! This slave girl was ever good to thee—good as thou wert kind. Hast thou not looked into her eyes, and, meeting thine, spoke they not sincere love for thee? Is this not so? True, she left thine home, but of this we will not now speak—she was born to rule, and could not serve as a slave. She chose not her destiny—it was written for her; she did not make it. I say again, she did not make it any more than she chose her dignity of birth! Born from a long line of warriors on the one side and a princess priestess on the other, how could she serve?'

'Thou art rambling, Chios! The excitement of yesterday makes inroads on thy mind.'

'Nay, noble Lucius. Chios is not mad, but soon will be. Help, Lucius! Help for Saronia!'

The Roman remained stolid, silent.

'Let me go on—let me speak,' said Chios. 'As I have said, of such noble descent, her soul awakened, arose, towered above all others. She, the slave, became the priestess of yonder mighty Temple, which Nero of Rome has sent the vile Acratus to plunder. Fortunately, before this robbery took place, Saronia had stepped from the old faith into the new. Had she not, her blood would have crimsoned the great altar of Diana—she would have laid down her life for her goddess! Now this precious life is in the hands of Lucius. Wilt thou loose the silver thread and let her go?

'Were her father here—a warrior like unto thyself, armed, full of power, with hosts of warships under his command, the strongest sanctuary under heaven—say, Lucius, would he not clasp her in his arms, and, covering her with kisses, bear her away? What would you say of him if he, knowing she were his child, refused to save—sailed away with all his hosts, leaving her for brutal sport and a hideous death?'

'He would be worthy of death,' said the Roman.

'Now hear me, Lucius. Thou art the father—of—Saronia. She, thy child——'

'By the gods, thou mockest me!'

'No, I am serious. I know your secret. You sailed to Britain, tore the princess priestess from her island home, sailed across the seas to Sidon; there deserted wife and child. The mother died, the daughter lived—became a foundling, then a slave, Saronia! Afterwards thou didst take to wife the Roman, Venusta.'

'Hold—hold, Chios! It is all true. It comes back to me!'

'By a strange fate she met thy Roman daughter. How could there be peace—the first-born a slave, the second a tyrant? I, Chios, admired the nobleness, the beauty, of this slave, until I worshipped her and loved her beyond expression. I would have purchased her with all I had, not knowing who she was—would have wed her. The Fates ordered otherwise, and she arose, as you know, until she became the mightiest woman of the land; and because her great spirit towered beyond the faith which environed her, and she accepted the faith of the Highest, her goodness became a crime in the eyes of the Ephesian people. But again, Lucius, she is thy child! Wilt thou save her?'

'Save her, Chios? 'Tis the least I can do. There shall be no mistake in this matter; and I will order guard enough to fetch her should all the soldiers in Ephesus be required.'

And Chios went back to his studio to prepare for the removal of Saronia.