-weeds. Beneath it sat the queen of the festival--the Bride of the
Nile.

Robed in white and closely veiled, she was quite motionless. Her long,
thick brown hair fell over her shoulders; at her feet lay a wreath, and
rare rose-colored lotos-flowers were strewn on the car.

The bishop had been sitting at her side, the first Christian priest,
certainly, of all the swarms of monks and ecclesiastics in Memphis, who
had ever appeared at such a scene of heathen abomination. He was now
standing, looking down at the crowd with a deeply knit brow and menacing
gaze. What good had come of the penitential sermons in all the
churches, of his and his vicar's warnings and threats? In spite of all
remonstrance he had mounted the car with the condemned victim, after
administering the last consolations to her soul. It might cost him his
life, but he would keep his promise.

In her hand Paula held two roses: one was Orion's last greeting
delivered by Martina; the other Pulcheria had brought her early in the
morning. Yesterday, in a lucid moment, her dying father had given her
his fondest blessing, little knowing what hung over her; to-day he had
not come to himself, and had neither noticed nor returned her parting
kiss. Quite unconscious, he had been moved from the prison out of doors
and to the house of Rufinus. Dame Joanna would not forego the privilege
of giving him a resting-place and taking care of him till the end.

Orion's last note was placed in Paula's hands just before she set out;
it informed her that his task was now successfully ended. He had been
told that it was to-morrow, and not to-day, that the hideous act would
be accomplished; and it was a consolation to her to know that he was
spared the agony of following her in fancy in her fearful progress.

She had allowed the women who came to clothe her in bridal array to
perform their task; among them was Emau, the chief warder's wife,
and her overflowing compassion had done Paula good. But even in the
prison-yard she had felt it unendurable to exhibit herself decked in her
bridal wreaths to the gaping multitude; she had torn them from her and
thrown them on the ground.

How long--how interminably long--had the road to the river appeared; but
she had never raised her eyes to look at the curious crowd, never ceased
lifting up her heart in prayer; and when her proud blood boiled, or
despair had almost taken possession of her, she had grasped the bishop's
hand and he had nev