e, dear love.
Look at my face and see how brave I am." Her voice, now calm, had in
it some power that touched him deeply. It was the great, new love
between men and women---forerunner of the mighty revolution.

He stood silent, looking down at her. The song of a nightingale rang
in the great halls. He turned and brought a lyre that lay on a table
near them. She took it in her hands. Then it seemed as if her sorrow
fell upon the strings, and in their music was the voice of her soul.

He bowed before her, whispering a prayer; he put all his soul into one
long look and quickly went away.

Then she rose and ran to the end of the banquet-hall. "I can hear his
voice," she whispered. "No, I must not go--I must not go."

A moment followed in which there came to her a sound of distant voices.
She stilled her sobs and listened. She ran towards the loved voice and
checked her eager feet.

She stood a moment with arms extended. The sound grew fainter and a
hush fell. She ran to the white statue of the little god Eros, and,
kneeling, threw her arms around the shapely form and wept bitterly.

CHAPTER 11

The dark was lifting as Vergilius entered the Field of Mars. There
were lanterns about his litter, and far and near, in lines and
clusters, he could see lights on the plain, some moving, some standing
still. Hard by the Tiber he joined a small troop of horse, and
vaulting on the shaft of his lance, mounted a white charger. Manius
wheeled into place beside him at the head of the column. A quaestor
called the roll.

"Ready?" Vergilius inquired, turning to Manius.

"All ready," the other answered.

Then a trumpet sounded and those many feet had begun the long journey
to Jerusalem. They made their way to the Forum. Scores of women and
children of the families of those departing had gathered by the golden
mile-stone. The troop halted. Those who had been waiting in the dank,
chill air sought to press in among the horses. It was hard to keep
them back. Vergilius, full of his own sorrow, felt for them and gave
them good time. A little group, in gray paenula and veils, were
watching from without the crowd. He moved aside, beckoning to them.

"Make your farewells," said he, as they came near. "We shall be off in
a moment."

A beautiful white hand was extended to him. He took it in his, and
then quickly pressed it to his lips.

"Farewell, dear love!" he whispered.

A quick pressure answered him,