ou should see the charioteers in full swing.'

'But thou hast not spoken of the gem of the city, the great Temple of
Diana?'

'No, I have not.'

'I passed the Temple on my way hither, and I shall not soon forget when
I stood without the Parabolus walls, and, looking through the entrance
gate, gazed on the flight of marble steps leading up to the mighty
building. I have seen nothing like it in my splendid Rome. Not only is
the Temple great, but the very place on which it stands, surrounded with
its sacred groves, seems a fit place for the birth of a goddess. I saw
the shrine of Hecate lifting its head behind the mightier home of Diana,
and heard songs of worship coming forth from both, sometimes low, as the
murmur of a sinless child, then rising in great waves--billowy waves of
jubilant harmony--until I seemed bound to the place by an invisible
chain.'

Just then Chios was announced, and Varro saw by Nika's eyes that she had
something more than respect for the Greek. Venusta was glad Chios had
come, for she feared the Roman might continue to speak of the Temple,
and that the conversation might drift towards the priestesses, and the
name of Saronia be mentioned.

Chios appeared happy, save for the far-away look in his eyes. Nika was
the only one who could read him and solve his abstraction. She spoke
kindly to him, and gradually allowed her manner to change to
freezing-point. This was strategic: she showed the Roman she valued
little the friendship of the Greek, and Varro was deceived, and thought
it true. There was no need for battle against this Ephesian artist. He
could even use him to further his own ends to win the girl. No, Nika
had slighted Chios--treated him coldly. He could now treat him
courteously and fraternize; but, could he have looked into the girl's
heart, he would have seen the image of Chios engraved there.

'How long,' said Varro, 'hast thou been in Ephesus?'

'From childhood,' replied Chios.

'And hast thou followed thy profession from youth?'

'Yes, and I love it--am wedded to it for life.'

'What meanest thou? Wilt thou never wed some sweet Ionian girl?'

'Never! As I tell thee, I am wedded to my art. I shall never wed again.
Why should I, seeing I love it dearly, as strongly as yonder priesthood
love their faith and are content? So am I.'

At this saying of Chios the beautiful mouth of the Roman girl was
slightly agitated, and her hand closed tightly on an almond flower, and
its petal