and perceiving some dark stains on the torn peplos
she pulled it aside and saw that the white bosom was bleeding from deep
wounds made in the tender flesh by the cruel fangs of the hound.

Paula's heart thrilled with indignation, grief and pity. He--he whom
she had only yesterday held to be the epitome of every manly
perfection--Orion, was guilty of so foul a deed! He, of whose
unflinching, dauntless courage she had heard so much, had fled like a
coward, and had left the victim to her fate--twice a victim to him!

But something must be done besides lamenting and raging, and wondering
how in one human soul there could be room for so much that was noble and
fine with so much that was shameful and cruel. She must save the girl,
she must seek help, for Mandane's bosom still faintly rose and fell
under Paula's tremulous fingers.

The freedman's brave heart would not allow him to fly to leave her with
the injured girl; he flung his shoes on the floor, raised the senseless
form, and propped it against one of the columns that stood round the
hall. It was not till his mistress had repeated her orders that he
hurried away. Paula watched him depart; as soon as she heard the
heavy door of the atrium close upon him, heedless of her own
suspicious-looking position, she shouted for help, so loudly that her
cries rang through the nocturnal silence of the house, and in a few
minutes, from this side and that, a slave, a maid, a clerk, a cook, a
watchman, came hurrying in.

Foremost of all--so soon indeed that he must have been on his way when
he heard her cry--came Orion. He wore a light night-dress, intended, so
she said to herself, to give the wretch the appearance of having sprung
out of bed. But was this indeed he? Was this man with a flushed face,
staring eyes, disordered hair and hoarse voice, that favorite of fortune
whose happy nature, easy demeanor, sunny gaze and enchanting song had
bewitched her soul? His hand shook as he came close to her and the
injured slave; and how forced and embarrassed was his enquiry as to what
had happened; how scared he looked as he asked her what had brought her
into this part of the house at such an hour.

She made no reply; but when his mother repeated the question soon after,
in a sharp voice, she--she who had never in her life told a lie--said
with hasty decision: "I could not sleep, and the bark of the dog and a
cry for help brought me here."

"I call that having sharp ears!" retorted Ne