Chapter 10 - Page 2

took
her in his arms. She had dreamed of many things to say, but now she
only whispered to him, her lips against his ear, the simple message: "I
love you, I love you, I love you." Then: "But I forgot," said she,
pushing him away, a note of fear in her voice. She straightened the
folds of her tunic, and drew the transparent silk close to her full,
white bosom. It was all unconscious as the trick of a wooing bird.

"And what did you forget?" he inquired.

"That you are you, and a man," said she, sighing. "In some way it
is--it is such a pity, I dare not suffer you to caress me. And
yet--and yet, I do love it."

"And your lips," said he, embracing her, "they are to me as the gate of
Elysium!"

"It may be we are now in the islands of the blest and know them not,"
she whispered.

She tried to draw herself away.

"I will not let you go. Indeed, I cannot let you go."

"And I am glad," she answered, with a little laugh, her hand caressing
his brow. "I do love the feel of your arms and your lips--beautiful
son of Varro!"

"I will not let you go until--until you have promised to be my bride.
Think, the term is only two years."

"Be it one or many, I will be your bride," said she. "And although you
were never to return, yet would I always wait for you and think of this
day."

She drew herself away and sat thoughtful, her chin upon her hands.

"Now are you most beautiful," said he, "with that little touch of
sorrow in your face. It gives me high thoughts to look at you."

While they were thus sitting a woman, well past middle age, came into
their presence. She stopped near the feet of Arria. It was her
grandmother, the Lady Claudia, once a beauty of the great capital, now
gray and wrinkled, but still erect with patrician pride.

Vergilius had risen quickly, bowed low, and kissed her hand.

"I often saw you, son of my friend, when you were a child," said she.
"I remember when you were young you went away with the legions."

"To learn the art of war," he answered.

"Sit down, dear grandmother," said the girl, as he brought a chair.
"Now let her hear you tell me why it is that you have chosen me, dear
Vergilius--let her hear you."

"I know not. Perhaps because your beauty, sweet girl, is like the
snare of the fowler and brought me to your hand. Then something in
your eyes captured the heart of me--something better than beauty. It
is the light of your soul. Love and peace and innocence and gentleness
and all good are in it. That is