HE obeyed the war-trumpet which echoed throughout the Roman Empire. He went forth to fight under the Eagle of the mighty Trajan. His young wife, who had been his for scarcely three moons, hung once more on his arm. He kissed the mute lips which did not trust themselves to speak. Trajan called, and he must follow, but she should be safe. He would send her to the far-distant province by the Danube, where the wild Dacians had long since bowed before Trajan's victorious sword. A trusty escort should guide her to that peaceful valley; the sweet society of her friends, the noble ladies Flavia and Lavinia, should help to cheer her; the sacred waters of Hercules should give back the roses which had faded from her cheek. He kissed her lips, and taking from his neck a sacred chain of gold, he whispered, "Keep it, and never forget that thou art my wife.” Once more the Roman Eagle triumphed. Flushed with victory and crowned with laurels, the young general hastened to that distant province by the Danube. Had she guarded the mystic chain as he had bid her? The "aquæ Herculi sacræ "--had they rekindled the beams of her eyes? Did the roses bloom again on her cheek? Yes, the roses bloomed again; he saw that from afar. He saw her smiling, radiant, her friends beside her, and some one else. Was not that fair-haired stripling the puny Aurelius Crispinus, whose arm had been too weak to fight for Rome? Was that smile, so heavenly sweet, for yonder boy? A devil clutched the warrior's heart; his fingers felt for his swordhilt. Venomous tongues spoke to him; they whispered that she had been false. He watched from afar; he saw her leave the spot; he saw the stripling bend over something in his hand; and still watching, he followed step by step. A gold line glittered on the youth's neck; the warrior's eagle eye caught the shine; it was the sacred chain, the chain which VOL. CXXXVI. NO. DCCCXXVI. K was to have been the token of her fidelity; and now that white-faced boy was mumbling over the dishonoured pledge. They must both die; but the blood should never stain his sword. He knew the man who would do any deed for the love of heavy gold; that man should do this deed. A wild cavern in the rocks was the ruffian's abode. The warrior sought it and spoke. He. Dost thou know a grave so deep that it will tell no tales ? Brigand. Master, I do. He. A place whence the dead cannot return to trouble me? Brig. Even so, I know the place. He. A woman must sleep in that grave to-night; but neither word nor step must I hear. Here, take this purse. Brig. Name me the woman. He. My wife. The valley slept. The young wife softly slumbered on her couch; but a rude hand has touched her arm. What is this massive muffled figure that confronts her? Her eyes, dark as death, flash for one moment. "Follow me, lady; I have come for thee." "Follow thee? By whose order?" "Thy lord's." "Dost thou take me to him? Then will I follow thee gladly." The way was long and steep; rough with rocks and sharp with brambles. Trees on all sides threatening her with their arms, thorns which caught her silken hair, stones which cut her tender feet. "Kind man, let me rest awhile; see, my sandals are rent.” "Nay, thou shalt rest presently, and deeply too. The end of thy journey is at hand." "Good man, is it here I will find my lord?" She stood still with a shriek. What was this black abyss, blacker than the night around her, which yawned at her feet? Whence came this hideous gaping void? "What is it?" the woman asked trembling. "It is thy grave." They were alone, the woman and the man, and the vast forest was around them. No human ear could hear her shriek, no human eye could see her death. Shame on the trees which nodded to each other over the murderer's head; shame on the breeze which whispered the black secret through the forest; shame on the golden stars, oh shame on them, not to hide their twinkling eyes from the sight of so foul a deed! The eagle started from its nest at the sound of that shriek, and circled flapping through the darkness; the lynx-eyed cat, listening, dropped her prey, then rose and fled swift-footed to the inmost fastnesses of her rocky den. The guiltless wife had not yet ceased to breathe when the husband had learnt his error. Before his mighty sword the stripling sank to the ground, but with his last breath he whispered the truth. Aurelius had loved her, but she was innocent; that chain was no love-token from her; he had stolen it from her as she dropped it, going to the bath. "Cruel man, she loved no one but thee." Wildly did the warrior press up the hillside to find that deep grave which could tell no tales. That grave should be his grave,-if he were too late. The valley awoke, and the portals of the baths stood open. The sacred Hercules waters bubble boiling from the rock, and are caught in marble basins to be the health of thousands. The priests are offering their morning sacrifice to the god Hercules sanctus augustus invictus salutifer. Fair ladies enter the baths, or stroll along the tessellated pavement. The noble ladies Flavia and Lavinia walk with linked arms. Flavia. But poorly. The fate of my beloved friend robbed my couch of all its softness. It is the common talk of the valley. I shall never be consoled. Wilt thou? Lav. Never. Ah, she was beautiful! How red were her lips! Fla. And how shapely were her arms! But didst thou never think that her hair was too black? Lav. Now that I reflect, I think it was too black. Fla. And her eyes too large? Lav. How justly thou speakest! And, sweet Flavia, what say'st thou of her skin? Fla. Any suckling could see that it was over-white. thy roses, Lavinia. She had not Lav. Nor had she thy noble stature, sweet Flavia; her figure had not the pleasing roundness of thine. Fla. Nor seems it to me that her lips were so—very red. Lav. Nor her arms so very shapely. Fla. Now that I call back her face to mind, I cannot say that she was beautiful. Lav. We shall be friends for ever, my Flavia! [They embrace; then stand looking down at the rolling Djernis river.] Lav. They say she was innocent. Fla. They say so. Lav. Even now the high priest waits to implore the gods with sacrifice that they should pardon her cruel bloodshed. Fla. The high priest has a tender heart. He is ever compassionate to the erring. Lav. Didst thou say―erring? Fla. I was but speaking my thought. Lav. Tell me thy thought, sweet Flavia. Fla. It came to my mind that we unhappily hold no proof of her innocence. Aurelius had a fair face. Lav. Methinks her lord was of nobler gait. Fla. The man who is nearest is always the comeliest to a-pleasureloving woman; we will not say more than a pleasure-loving woman, Lavinia. Lav. Oh, wise Flavia! oh, far-seeing Flavia! Yes, she deserved to die. But hush! let us speak softly. Fla. and Lav. [in one breath]. No word of ours shall taint her memory. Lav. What if I whispered the truth to young Sabina? She is a discreet matron. Fla. And I have no secrets from Lucrezia; we are as sisters to each other. [The noble ladies have reached the entrance of the sacred temple. They pause on the steps to adjust the folds of their trailing garments. To the left of the temple the wooded bank slopes upwards, dark green against the clear blue sky; from below on the right comes the the sound of rushing water, for there the Djernis tosses moaning over its stony bed.] Lav. When last we stood here, she was by our side. tell me if my palla falls smoothly? And mine? Fla. As smooth as moonbeams on a lake. Lav. Thou art draped like a goddess in the clouds. pitiful that she had to die so cruel a death? Canst thou Say, is it not Fla. Truly; but the pity is greater that he should have thrown himself after her. He was a well-favoured man. Lav. [looking into the steel mirror which hangs by her side]. He might have known that there are many more comely women in the world. But hark! the voice of the flutes invites us to the temple. Fla. Come, let us sacrifice to the immortal gods! [Exit. THE PROLOGUE. When Alexius Damianovics de Draskócs, sometimes known as Count Damianovics de Draskócs, died, he left his widow and two children under the care of his brother Josika. Josika had long waited for this opportunity. Some fifteen years previously Alexius had taken possession of the paternal estate, merely on the ground of being the nearest to the spot, for no will was forthcoming; and indeed, in the lower Danubian provinces of Austria, where these circumstances occurred, wills were rarely heard of, and everything was settled by the right of might. Josika, who in his father's lifetime had already spent considerable sums of money, made no objection when Alexius took possession of the estate; he merely said to himself, "I have a long life before me: I can wait." Scarcely twelve months were passed since Alexius's death when Josika's waiting was crowned, and he had virtually become master of Draskócs. He had begun by proposing to the widow, who refused him; and had ended by boldly declaring that he had as good a right to the estate as Alexius had ever had. This resulted in much indignation and tears on the part of Eleonore, the widow; and finally, in her abrupt flight to Pesth, whence she threatened Josika with the terrible word "Justice!" Twenty-two years passed, and the lawsuit begun by the furious Eleonore still trailed its slow length along. "I have a long life before me,' was Josika's set formula: "I can wait. I hope to survive the end of the lawsuit." Meanwhile the widowed Countess experienced another heavy blow. Her son Alexius, who betrayed a weakness for alcohol, had been placed in the hands of a young German tutor, named Adalbert Mohr. The widow's daughter, Ascelinde, being then an impulsive creature of twenty-nine, lost her heart to the tutor, and told him so, or "betrayed her feelings" in an unguarded moment. Adalbert really admired her; and what between that and surprise, he took the bait. The engagement was kept secret, but Eleonore had sus |