sible, as you say it."

"Hannibal to surrender his plans for a woman?" cried Perolla,
scornfully. "Surely, my Decius, you jest. Do you not know him--that
only the gods can turn him from his purpose?"

Marcia had wheeled about with flashing eyes and faced the last speaker.

"You have shown me the way," she cried. "It is the gods who _shall_
delay him."

Perolla gazed at her in astonishment, as at one gone mad, but Magius
nodded and frowned.

"It is the best chance," he said slowly, "the only one."

"Still Minerva does not favour me," said Perolla, shaking his head; but
Marcia went on in a high, nervous voice and with a gayety that made the
older man draw his cloak up to his face in pity:--

"Come, my philosopher, you are indeed stupid to-night. If you did not
observe it at the house of the Ninii, you should have heard me just now
when I told the story of the banquet to my lord Decius. It is
Iddilcar, the priest of Melkarth, who shall bring his god to be my
ally--Rome's ally: Iddilcar, who could not so much as take his eyes
from me, through all their feasting. There is the man who will prefer
my beauty, even to his god's favour; and surely your Hannibal will not
wage war against the auspices."

The face of Magius was still shaded by his cloak, and he said nothing;
but over the features of the younger man came strange expressions:
first amazement, then horror, then a look which had something of horror
but more of yearning. He held out his hands in supplication.

"No--no," he cried. "You shall not do it. You are too beautiful.
First I hated you, when I dreamed you to be but a courtesan traitress.
Now--now--O gods favour me! Listen! you shall not do it. It is I who
will kill him--yes, and you also first," and, turning suddenly away, he
staggered. Then, as Magius raised his hand to support him, he shook
himself free and ran furiously into the house.

Marcia turned to Magius in astonishment, and he smiled sadly.

"Even philosophers are not proof," he said; "and you are very
beautiful--and he is young--and half a Greek." She blushed, and the
grim senator took her hand. "May the gods grant, my daughter, that
your sacrifice be not for nothing. You have spoken wisdom; but he--he
is a madman. As for me, I am as one who is dead. Farewell."

He dropped her hand, and she felt, rather than heard or saw him go;
only her voice would not obey her when she strove to detain him, if but
for a moment: the only m