te night-wrapper of fine white material, and his heart was
so full that he clasped her in his arms as fondly as when she was his
bride; and she loved him even now no less than she had done then,
and felt for the hundredth time with grateful joy that the faithless
scapegrace had once more returned to her unchangeable and faithful
heart, like a sailor who, after wandering through many lands seeks his
native port.

"Lucilla," he cried, disengaging her arms from round his neck.
"Oh, Lucilla! what an evening this has been! I always judged Sabina
differently from you, and have felt with gratitude that she really cared
for me. Now all is clear between her and me! She called me her son. I
called her mother. I owe it to her, and the purple--the purple is ours!
You are the wife of Verus Caesar; you are certain of it if no signs and
omens come to frighten Hadrian."

In a few eager words, which betrayed not merely the triumph of a lucky
gambler, but also true emotion and gratitude, he related all that had
passed in Sabina's room. His frank and confident contentment silenced
her doubts, her dread of the stupendous fate which, beckoning her, yet
threatening her, drew visibly nearer and nearer. In her mind's eye she
saw the husband she loved, she saw her son, seated on the throne of the
Caesars, and she herself crowned with the radiant diadem of the woman
whom she hated with all the force of her soul. Her husband's kindly
feeling towards the Empress and the faithful allegiance which had tied
him to her from his boyhood did not disquiet her; but a wife allows the
husband of her choice every happiness, every gift excepting only the
love of another woman, and will forgive her hatred and abuse rather than
such love.

Lucilla was greatly excited, and a thought, that for years had been
locked in the inmost shrine of her heart, to-day proved too strong
for her powers of reticence. Hadrian was supposed to have murdered
her father, but no one could positively assert it, though either he or
another man had certainly slain the noble Nigrinus. At this moment the
old suspicion stirred her soul with revived force, and lifting her right
hand, as if in attestation, she exclaimed:

"Oh, Fate, Fate! that my husband should be heir of the man who murdered
my father!"

"Lucilla," interrupted Verus, "it is unjust even to think of such
horrors, and to speak of them is madness. Do not utter it a second time,
least of all to-day. What may have occurred