her voice trembled as she whispered: "Nay, he
also has the great love in him. He could not forget."

Cyran, the pretty slave-girl, came soon with their evening repast.
Arria bade her sit beside them.

"Tell us, dear Cyran," said the Roman beauty--"tell us a tale of old
Judea."

"Beloved mistress," said Cyran, kneeling by the side of Arria and
kissing the border of her robe, "listen; I will tell you of the coming
of the great love. Long ago there was a maiden of Galilee so beautiful
that many came far to see her. Now, it so befell, there came a certain
priest, young and fair to look upon, who did love her and seek her hand
in marriage. And she loved him, even as you love, but would not wed
him. O my good mistress! She knew that a mighty king was coming, and
she was held of a great hope that God would choose her for the blessed
mother. And, still loving the priest, she kept herself pure in thought
and deed. Every day they saw each other, but stayed apart, and their
love grew holier the more it was put down. And oh, it was a wonder!
for it filled their hearts with kindness and sent their feet upon
errands of mercy. And many years passed, and one day they sat together.

"'My beloved, you are grown old and feeble, and so am I,' said she, 'We
have pitied every child of sorrow but ourselves.' And they rose and
put their arms about each other and went into the dark valley of death,
heart to heart, that very day, and were seen no more of men. And they
in the hills of Galilee, where the lovers dwelt, made much account of
them, for while she had not borne the great king, still was she long
remembered as the blessed mother of holy love. Now, maidens, with
youth and love and beauty strong upon them, gave all for the great
hope. And wonderful stories went abroad, and women were more sacred in
the eyes of men, seeing that one of them, indeed, must be mother of the
very Son of God."

The slave-girl covered her face and her body shook with emotion.

"Cyran, why are you crying?" said Arria.

"Because," Cyran replied, her voice trembling--"because I can never be
the blessed mother."

"Tell me," said Arria, "have you never felt the great love?"

Cyran rose and looked down at her mistress.

"I have felt the pain of it," said she, sadly. "And my heart--Oh, it
is like the house of mourning where Sorrow has hushed the Children of
Joy. But the sweet pain of love is dear to me."

"Tell me of it."

"Good mistress,