m, and, on their answering
in the negative, said:

"My thanks, then, for this last gift!"

At the last moment she turned to the waiting-woman:

"Your brother will help you to burn Korinna's picture. No shameless gaze
shall dishonor it again." She tore her hand from that of the Christian,
who, with hot tears, tried to hold her back; then, carrying her head
proudly erect, she left them.

The brothers gazed shudderingly after her. "And to know," cried
Nemesianus, striking his forehead, "that our own comrades will slay her!
Never were the swords of Rome so disgraced!"

"He shall pay for it!" replied the wounded man, gnashing his teeth.

"Brother, we must avenge her!"

"Yes--her, and--may the gods hear me!--you too, Apollinaris," swore the
other, lifting his hand as for an oath.

Loud screams, the clash of arms, and quick orders sounded from below and
broke in upon the tribune's vow. He was rushing to the window to draw
back the curtain and look upon the horrid deed with his own eyes,
when Apollinaris called him back, reminding him of their duty toward
Melissa's brother, who was lost if the others discovered him here.

Hereupon Nemesianus lifted the fainting youth in his strong arms and
carried him into the adjoining room, laying him upon the mat which had
served their faithful old slave as a bed. He then covered him with his
own mantle, after hastily binding up the wound on his head and another
on his shoulder.

By the time the tribune returned to his brother the noise outside had
grown considerably less, only pitiable cries of anguish mingled with the
shouts of the soldiers.

Nemesianus hastily pulled aside the curtain, letting such a flood of
blinding sunshine into the room that Apollinaris covered his wounded
face with his hands and groaned aloud.

"Sickening! Horrible! Unheard of!" cried his brother, beside himself
at the sight that met his eyes. "A battle-field! What do I say? The
peaceful house of a Roman citizen turned into shambles. Fifteen, twenty,
thirty bodies on the grass! And the sunshine plays as brightly on the
pools of blood and the arms of the soldiers as if it rejoiced in it
all. But there--Oh, brother! our Marcipor--there lies our dear old
Marci!--and beside him the basket of roses he had fetched for the lady
Berenike from the flower-market. There they be, steeped in blood, the
red and white roses; and the bright sun looks down from heaven and
laughs upon it!"

He broke down into sobs, an