And thus it is that when we would do good, evil will present itself; so men set up the symbol of fire as the symbol of deity. Its active elements represent the bad; the light from the flame, the flower of the fire, designates the good.

The mystery of evil worked mightily on the sensitive mind of the girl, and she stretched forth through the darkness for a solution of this great problem which has harassed the minds of men through the ever-changing past. But no answer came, not a voice was heard, and she settled herself as well as she could to penetrate deeper into the hidden things, that perchance she might emerge into the glories of a nobler life.

She, by virtue of her occupation, believed in the great underworld of Hades—in Tartarus, in the Elysian—and knew that Hecate, her mistress, her goddess, presided over the depths where the unclothed spirits wailed and wandered, and over the starving ones who waited at the sacrifice to drink in the rich aroma arising from the altar fire. She knew of the pleadings of the lost for mercy from those they wronged on earth, and the pitiless refusals they met with from the unforgiving shades. In the dark, mysterious nature of Saronia were deep yearnings to set the unforgiven entombed ones free, that they might move upward on the arc of their ascending life, and go forward until they glistened with a glory of purity.

Frequently there arose within her mind the question, 'Is there a God of perfect goodness? Do I know all? Is there in the great and mighty universe a Central Throne, on which the All Perfect rules? Is there far away in the depths of yon gray-blue a King above all other gods and goddesses? And will He ever reveal Himself to man and teach a rule of life by which we may ascend to hold communion with Him?'

And as she meditated a joy unspeakable overwhelmed her soul, and tears, joyful tears, trickled down her beautiful face. But no voice or light came to say if other than Diana heard, and the great Temple shone before her in the sunlight. She said:

'This joy is from my goddess, Queen of Heaven; there is no goddess or god greater than she who speaks to me, and Hecate will control the evil which exists. I must bow before her and worship at her shrine, be co-worker with her, and afterwards she may explain to me those deep mysteries, things which sadden my soul. I shall know later that which to me is now impenetrable, dark, and lonely. O sweet goddess, hear me! O saviour, Queen, Protectress, hear me! O mighty Luminant, I adore thee! Queen of the Lower World, Queen of the Earth, Queen of the Skies, I adore, I worship thee! My being comes from thee, my life is held and led by thee, my future spreads out before thee. The great unfathomable eternity of the hereafter is known to thee. O mighty Lover, guard me! Generous Dispenser, protect me! Great, far-reaching goddess, lead me through the aeons, purify my mind from those thoughts which would reach out after some other love! Wrest from my spirit those dark forebodings, those wild clamourings for light, when thou art the light of the ages, the glory of the visible, the multitudinous glory of the invisible, the great centre on which the universe revolves.'



CHAPTER XII

THE FESTIVAL OF ARTEMIS

The day was glorious, and the hearts of the Ephesian people were brimming over with joy, for was not this the first day of the month Artemision? Eager crowds of people read the great inscription, which ran as follows:

'TO THE EPHESIAN DIANA.

'Inasmuch as it is notorious that not only among the people of Ionia, but everywhere among the Greek nations, temples are dedicated to her, on account of her plain manifestations of herself; and that, moreover, in token of the great veneration paid to her, a month is called after her name, by us Artemisiona, by the Macedonians and other Greek nations, Artemision, in which general assemblies and hieromenia are celebrated.

'Now, inasmuch as these sacred honours are not observed in the holy city, the nurse of its own, the Ephesian goddess; the people of Ephesus deem it proper that the whole month called by her name be sacred and set apart for the goddess; and have determined by this decree that the observation of it by them be improved.

'THEREFORE, IT IS ENACTED that in the whole month Artemision the days be holy, and nothing be attended to in them but the yearly feastings, the Artemisial panegyrics and the hieromenia, the entire month being sacred to the goddess; for, from this improvement in her worship, her cities shall receive additional lustre and be permanent in their prosperity for ever.'

* * * * *

Little crowds coming up from Smyrna and Thyatira, Sardis and Laodicea, from Militus on the coast and Samos on the sea, gathered around and read this proclamation. The people of Ephesus felt themselves honoured by their city being the Temple-home of the great goddess, and all gave themselves up to rejoicing. And the day wore on.

From the great theatre, all the way through the city gate to the finest, largest, and richest Temple ever reared, thousands of people in holiday attire awaited with ardent desire for the great procession which was heralded as it left the Temple.

And now it moves in all its magnificence and music, and symbols of the ceremonies. First came choirs of the most beautiful youths and lovely maidens clothed in white robes, singing responsively the praises of their protecting deity. The procession moved along regularly. Some carried the holy utensils, others torches, others, again, baskets of flowers which were strewn in the way. Perfumes were scattered amongst the people until the air was redolent with sweet odours. Next followed the horses, hounds, and hunting accoutrements, as well for attack as defence; after this came a train of virgins led by a lovely girl dressed in a purple robe. The skin of a fawn girded it round, on which hung a quiver and arrows. She symbolized Diana the Huntress, and was followed by her faithful hounds.

Then came choirs of youths and maidens singing the sacred chants, one choir answering the other, and then unitedly sending forth a peal in unison.

After them a multitude of Ephesian children. Then, with flying feet and swinging, voluptuous forms, the dancing-girls of Ionia.

Now rose on the perfumed air the sound of instruments, from the sweet, low tones of the flute and golden notes of the magadis, to the resounding clang of the cymbals and the beat of the timbrels, playing the 'March of Hell.' Whoever has heard such notes may never forget them—music set to the shrieks of the lost in Tartarus—the wild imploring of the forsaken pleading for forgiveness, as the songs from the dwellers in the Elysian fields break on their sinking souls like a ray of golden hope, too soon to be drowned by the cries of the Furies.

And thus did the Ephesians play the 'March of the Goddess Hecate,' and the sound of the queenly tread of the Infernal Goddess seemed to follow the ranks of her devotees, ranks of priests and priestesses dressed in black raiment bestud with stars of gold, a crescent moon on every brow. They held their hands towards the earth. Now came banners waving in the air, and standards of silver and gold bestud with precious stones. The Temple way blazed out with gorgeous colouring and glittering sheen.

Then rose to view the golden statue of the goddess, with many symbols of earth and sky and sea, supported by bars of gold and borne on the shoulders of stalwart men, all priests of the Temple, followed by a train of virgin priestesses with heads erect, wearing fillets of gold and myrtle-blossoms, each carrying the insignia of her office. These were followed by priests and choirs of singers, and others carrying smaller images of the goddess and silver shrines set with diamonds and emeralds. A company of lovely girls played music like the Dawn of Love.

Men of culture, men of noble rank, followed: all were greeted with loud acclaim. Then came again the tones of tibia, cithara, and many-sounding instruments playing the music of Diana, no fierce trumpetings, but sweetest melody, soft, peaceful, and joyful. In the rhythm were the fall of dew, the swing of the sickle, the song of the reapers, the lowing of cattle and laughter of children at play, and the mother's murmur of love as she hushed her babe to rest.

The vast procession moved onward with songs and hymns innumerable, and music and melody mingled in harmony to the Queen of Nature, Queen of Hades, Queen of Heaven, telling the story of her many attributes.

The vast pageant had gone—gone by the way of the great theatre, around Mount Pion and the Stadium to the Sacred Grove and the Temple.

* * * * *

Two men remained behind; they were strangers to each other.

One was Chios, the other a man short in stature, roughly clad, with eyes full of fire and possessed of great intelligence. He neither knelt nor applauded whilst the procession passed, but stood a stern spectator. One could see at a glance he was not a worshipper of the mighty Diana. Possessed of a firm, steadfast, thoughtful look, it stamped him as a character of no mean order. Who could he be? And why there at such a time, neither accepting nor opposing the worship of the city goddess?

He was one of the chief of the sect who followed the Christ of Nazareth, and had come to Ephesus to war against the Old with a New Creed.

Seeing him alone, and apparently poor, Chios, with that kindness ever characteristic of him, drew nigh, saying:

'Hail, fellow voyager! How didst thou like the mighty gathering of all that is power, truth, and loveliness in Ephesus?'

Then replied he:

'The kingly power and loveliness passed by in yonder show, but the truth was not there.'

'How sayest thou this, friend? Art thou not a worshipper of our great goddess Diana?'

'No.'

'What, then, dost thou worship?'

'I worship God.'

'And canst thou not worship God and adore her?'

'No.'

'Why?'

'Because God is a spirit and demands spiritual worship. He is a jealous God, and will have no other gods before Him.'

'Now, pray tell me,' said Chios, 'why of necessity should we worship your Deity? In what particular does He differ from Diana? She also is a great spirit. Why multiply gods and worship another?'

'Listen, young man. There is but one eternal past and future, and one Eternal God only can reign. There is no division of eternal power; so infinite is He, the universe is but a point compared to Him. He dwells above, below, beyond it. No man can follow His presence into the unfathomable abyss, no princely spirit could wing its way to find Him out. Ye worship ye know not what. You have set up the symbols of nature and named it deity. There is no God behind those symbols to answer when you call. You answer yourselves—believe a lie; custom gilds it as a truth.'

'Thou speakest strongly, good man. Dost thou bring proof of thy teachings?'

'My proof is within me: communion with the Spirit of my God. He speaks to me, believe it who may; it is sufficient for me.'

'But what if thou hast lulled thyself into a sweet calm, a calm born of content, worshipping a spiritual ideal? May it not be thus?'

'No.'

'How shall I know that what thou sayest is true?'

'By worshipping my God.'

'And what will follow?'

'The same conscious calm and communion, and thou shalt be the judge.'

'Tell me more of Him. Does He work by love or command?'

'Both. Those who serve Him find His commands encircled with love. He commands as a father for the good of his children. He is our Father, created our being; as when He said, "Let there be light," and the light flashed through the darkness.'

'What is the name of thy sect?'

'Christian.'

'Ah well, I have heard much of them, and desire to hear of their creed. Now I remember—yes, I remember the Father. Is there not wrapped up in the mysteries some teaching respecting a Son?'

'Yes, that is true—the Christ. He was slain by Pilate of Judea. Hast thou not heard of it?'

'Yes, I have heard as thou sayest; but I must confess I know little or nothing of the mysteries which surround thy faith.'

'Wouldst thou know?'

'I would.'

'Then thou shalt; but not now. This is not a place to expound the hidden things of God; moreover, if seen with me, evil may befall thee. Go now thy way. Let my prayers go with thee. We shall meet again. I will send for thee.'

'Thou mayest not find me.'

'I shall, fear not. I am not a magician, but my spirit is in sympathy with thine; we cannot travel far asunder without thou break the bond of union.'

'Dost understand Ephesian magic?'

'Yea, I understand, but practise not. Ere long it shall be shaken to its very roots.'

'Thou speakest as one with authority.'

'I do. Go in peace, and forget not the aged man who promises to reveal the truth to thee. Farewell!'

And as the stranger moved slowly away with downcast head and thoughtful mien, Chios felt as if a thick darkness surrounded him. Even Saronia faded from his mind before the burning words of that man. Chios perceived that the new teacher possessed immense spiritual and intellectual power, and felt his own weakness. He knew the sayings he had heard were but the outriders of a mighty army; that, in fact, this man had treated him as if he were a child. Who could he be? And whence came the great storehouse of wisdom which lay behind that impressive brow? From whence came the influence with which he spoke? His voice was low, but every word struck home and flashed forth strong conviction. Was he a god in disguise? Was he one of the gods come down to witness the festivities of the great goddess Diana?

'No, no; I believe not those vain imaginings. I will wait and wish for the time to meet again this great spirit. I will sit at his feet and learn, and perchance receive light and perhaps rest. Certainly I require it. Creed of my own I have not, or believe not what I have. Saronia's love can never be mine. Truth and love I must obtain. Truth this man offers me, and a promise of love from the God of Love. If thus it comes to pass, I will live well and move onward to the great Dream City, and stand upon the diamond floorway which leads to the altar steps of the Father God.'

* * * * *

By this time the great procession had moved around the south of Mount Pion, and was returning towards the Temple by way of the Serapion.

Slowly it went with majestic tread, passing by the harbour, and sailors on the ships bowed down in lowly adoration.



CHAPTER XIII

CHIOS THE GREEK

Day after day passed in festive manner until half the Month of Joy had sped, still Chios had not heard from the wise man. Where was he? Had he forgotten his promise? Was it all a dream? or was it, as he thought, a visitation from heaven, one of the gods on earth? Neither. He was confident he had met a human being, a man more powerful than any he had ever met before. There was but one other spirit like him, and that one dwelt in the form of a woman, and her name was Saronia.

To Chios both spirits appeared of the highest order, showing different phases, both giants in their faiths; one he loved, the other he somewhat feared, for he knew not what that strange man would tell to him, and Chios was like a ship on the stormy seas, tossed to and fro without sail or rudder to guide him. So he said, 'I will go to the Temple; there is worship at this hour.' As he moved slowly onwards Saronia passed him. Their eyes met, but she dared not speak.

The Greek felt all the old love revive the moment he beheld the beautiful girl. Moreover, he thought he read on her face the blush of a hidden love. What should he do? To go now to the Temple where she had entered would be useless, for his thoughts, his mind, his whole soul had gone out again to her, and he could worship no other deity, even were damnation the penalty. He would return to his studio, to his work on his great picture—the picture of his love, of the one being who haunted his life, of Saronia as High Priestess of Diana.

Oh, if he could speak to her; could draw near and drink deeply of those mysterious eyes! Even that might pacify him. How could it be done? He had influence in the city; he would use it. Could he not obtain entrance to the Sacred Grove?—for there he knew she nightly went to pay her vows on the altar of the Infernal Goddess. Yes, his mind was fully made up. He would find the hour she frequented the place, would hazard his life to speak with her, and if but one sentence came from those lips he would be satisfied, even if those words were the curse of Hecate.

On the way to the studio, and just as he was about to enter the gateway, he saw a woman leaning against a pillar. She addressed him, asking for alms. He replied:

'What dost thou here, woman? Why not take part in this day of joy?'

She said:

'My heart cannot feel joy. It is dead; it is incapable of throbbing to the pleasure of the world or the joy of religion.'

'Why?'

'Because I am an outcast; my sins are so great that I dare not pray. I am past feeling, and would die.'

'Art thou in such a state?'

'Yea, and worse: I am let alone by the gods and man.'

'Thou art, then, a wandering star?'

'Yes, thou sayest truly, for I shall soon shoot into the darkness of the unknown and be for ever lost.'

'Hast thou no occupation?'

'None.'

'Canst thou do anything to earn an honest livelihood?'

'I am skilled in magic, having learnt it in my youth; but the art is so common in Ephesus that my gains are very small.'

'Come, now, canst thou read my fate for a piece of gold?'

'I know thee.'

'Who am I?'

'He whom they call Chios the Greek, the Ephesian artist, and——'

'Go on, woman, do not fear!'

'The lover of Saronia.'

'Thou art mad.'

'No. Would that I had been born such!'

'How dost thou know my name?'

'Know thy name! I inquired for it after thou didst take away the slave girl Saronia, when she leant against the pillar outside the great theatre, waiting the bidding of her haughty mistress Nika. My curse rest on Nika!'

'Silence! Curse her not.'

'Say on, Chios: what dost thou want of me?'

'Nothing.'

'Then pass thy way and leave me as thou didst find me, unless thou, too, would whip me like a cur for resting against thy piece of marble.'

'Nay, woman; I will not go until I help thee. Here is a golden piece—another and another. Take them all; I have more. Go thou and get food, and hope on. Thou art earth's side of the great threshold, and may yet do well with the remnant of thy life.'

'No, no; I know the faith. Thou art wrong. The cursed of Hecate are doomed!'

'Listen, woman! Thou knowest Saronia?'

'Ah! ah! Thou canst not leave that name. I knew I was right. Thou lovest her?'

'Silence, I tell thee again! Thou art more profane than I imagined. Think you I am perilous enough to venture the curse of hell by daring to love a priestess of Hecate?'

'Yes. Thou art of the mould to dare anything for love. Not only to risk the curse of hell, but to wear it as thou wearest that ribbon around thy neck, the ribbon which suspends the silver shrine Saronia placed upon thy breast when thou didst slumber as the dead.'

'Witch as thou art, how dost thou know of this?'

'Magic does not aid me in this case. I saw her do it.'

'Saw Saronia—do—it?'

'Yes, I saw her.'

'Thou liest; it is thy dreadful sorcery!'

'Nay, nay, not so. I saw her enter thy gateway to escape a band of drunken ruffians. I stood by this very pillar where I often stand. I knew Saronia, and followed to protect, if needs be, and hid behind the myrtle-trees until she entered. Then I gazed within, saw her bend over thy sleeping form and put her sweet face close to thine, saw her take the trinket from her bosom, kiss it, and place it on thy breast. Then again did she stoop over, and drank in one long draught of thy breath—thy life, as if to mingle soul with soul.'

'Hast thou spoken of this to any other?'

'No.'

'Darest thou?'

'I will not.'

'And why so true?'

'Because if ever the fire is lit again within this wreck it will be she who will kindle the first spark.'

'How thinkest thou so?'

'It was I who befriended her, pointing the way when she fled from the house of Venusta. Besides, I met her before that, near the great theatre; there I read her fate, and told her her star was rising full of splendour. Besides, I love her as much as I can, and have begged of her to think of this poor hag when she cometh into great power—and she shall! Yes, she shall rise higher and higher, for the great spirit of the goddess leads her. Hear what Endora says: "Saronia's star is still in the ascendant. She has been priestess of spirits before this earth-life, and she shall rise to be queen of the priestesses here—first amongst women who serve the great goddess at the shrine of Artemis."'

'Art thou sure?'

'I know it.'

'By what?'

'By my power, which never fails. Would Chios know further?'

'No; but, stay, dost thou think Saronia is past loving other than the goddess?'

'I tell thee she loves Chios, and thou knowest it as well as I. She cannot rend the chain which binds ye twain together. The position is perilous in the extreme. Thou knowest she is bound to chastity, and wouldst thou try to break her sacred vows?'

'No; Heaven stay the thought! This I swear; but—can I trust thee?'

'Yes, Chios, thou art safe. Thy spirit comes towards me, but it cannot blend with mine, and for want of this thou mayest mistrust the need of perfect sympathy. But thou art good; I am dark and foul as Tartarus! Evil and good cannot make one unbroken circle of harmony. Nevertheless, trust me, Chios—trust me.'

'Very well, I will. At what hour does Saronia visit the Sacred Grove of Hecate to offer sacrifice?'

'This very night at midnight.'

'Are there means of access to that grove?'

'Yes, for those who dare, but few would.'

'Which is the way?'

'Go thou to the wood outside the Temple, pass a furlong to the north; there is a low wall which thou canst easily vault. Once within the sacred enclosure, push on westward another furlong, and thou wilt see the Hecatesium, the little temple shaded with gigantic pines and cypress-trees. Yellow iris stud the ground, and crimson and white oleander grow between. Heed not the mighty thunderings proceeding from the temple, or the livid, glare-like lightning's flash springing forth between the pillars of the portico—on swiftly by it, lest thy heart faileth and thou diest. Having passed this temple, take the winding road at its rear. This will bring thee to where three roads meet, and there thou wilt see, by the light of the waning moon and the flickering stars, an altar, and, rising above it, the three-figured statue of the Triple Goddess. She, as Hecate, holding in her hands the keys of hell and of death, facing the pit in which the altar is reared for to-night's incantations and sacrifice. Secrete thyself before midnight behind the base of one of the tall trees. Thou wilt not have long to wait ere the light of a torch will stream upon the dark green foliage and a woman's form will appear, and, later, as she approaches, dark tresses waving in the breeze, and, if light enough, two eyes like stars of night, o'ershadowed by eyebrows like cloudlets of gloom. Those are the eyes of Saronia, the priestess of Hecate. Darest thou to be there and speak to her? I think not. Weigh well thy intentions, Chios, before setting out on such an awful journey. Let me entreat thee, good man; let me beg of thee—forswear this enterprise!'

'Farewell, Endora—that is thy name, is it not?'

'Yes, my lord.'

'Farewell, Endora—farewell. Keep the secret, as thou hast said.'

'I will, and perchance some power may save thee from the vengeance of earth and hell.'



CHAPTER XIV

THE GROVE OF HECATE

The evening sun had set behind great frowning clouds of crimson and gray; dark masses like funeral steeds moved slowly through the sky. The night came, dark and dreary; a sable mantle of clouds hung from east to west like a wall of gloom, and when from noon ten hours had sped Chios went forth, following the highway to the Temple. He was clad in a mantle of azure blue, shrouded from head to foot; his most intimate friends would have passed without knowing him. The Temple was at his right hand, and he had gained the outskirts of the great forest of pine-trees. He saw the river Cayster winding towards the sea like a river of death.

He entered the grove; the tall trees shook their mighty foliage, warning him in accents deep as the voice of judgment. What did he care? Forward he went. If all the trees of that wood had voices loud as the thunderings of the gods and spoke to him, he would not stay one step towards the goal.

No, as he penetrated further his courage grew stronger and his mind firmer. At last, through the darkness, he saw the wall which surrounded the Sacred Grove. For a moment he stood still, but to think of the commands of Endora. Then, with a bound, he was over, and stood on ground unlawful for him to tread; but what cared he? On he moved carefully, for fear the rustling shrubs might betray him, until he saw the looming of the Temple of Hecate. He heard weird sounds issuing forth, and fierce fires seemed to burn within the sacred shrine of the Infernal Goddess. Ever and anon from between the pillars of the portico, guarding it like a flaming sword, there flashed forth bars of light, and mighty thunderings came bellowing from that most dreadful fane, followed by shrieks like the cries of drowning men when they founder with their barque. All was as Endora had said. But Chios heeded nothing. Such he expected, and was prepared to meet them as a man who had determined to hazard all; and, passing stealthily by the marble pile, he gained the footpath at the rear, and followed on; gained the site where stood the trench and its awful altar of the goddess. Then, for the first time, he freely drew breath, and sat down at the foot of the statue of Diana Triformis. Presently he hid behind a wide-spreading tree, and waited for Saronia.

Several forms like men or women or demons passed by towards the Temple; he heard their mutterings, but saw not their faces. The time hung heavily on his hands. 'Twas still half an hour to midnight, and the waning moon was hid—not a star shone forth to comfort him. The wild beasts of the grove howled from their distant lair.

Then came a convulsion in the heavens—the gathering storm-clouds spoke to each other and exchanged lightning glances until the sky was a sea of fire. Great clouds whirled up from the west, and others bore down from the east, and they mingled around the moon in one great aerial war until the heavens were rent asunder, and the east wind gained the mastery, sweeping the surging war-clouds away to the western sky in the dark-blue depths. The waning moon shone out with sickly hue, and the diamond stars sprung forth, and soft clouds moving onwards like dark-stoled virgin priestesses bowed to the Queen of Heaven.

Chios starts; he shrinks; he sees the glare of torches coming down the Sacred Way; he counts them as they wildly dance upon the midnight air—one, two—five—eight. He is undone! She cometh not alone! Towards him sweeps the fiery line until within a hundred paces it stops, and forms a circle, seven around, with one uplifted torch within the sacred zone. The circle breaks and forms two lines and the centre figure passes between, moving onward to the altar. The others in serpent form move sinuously back to the Temple of Hecate.

The solitary figure, the haughty torch-bearer, draws nearer, until Chios sees by the lurid glare the dark masses of hair floating on the wind, and fancies he sees the mysterious eyes beneath the marble brow. He could not mistake her—he knew her too well. It was Saronia, the priestess, arrayed in her priestly robes.

She was standing by the statue of the great goddess with head thrown back. The flame of the torch like a serpent of fire coiled and uncoiled like a living thing, and lit up the band of gold which circled her head, and shone on her mantle of sable hue.

Then, stretching out her hands towards the earth, she addressed the goddess:

'Hail, Hecate! Hail, Diana! Luna, Hail! Goddess of Heaven, the Earth, and the Underworld. Thou rollest the heavens around the steady pole. Thou illuminest the sun. Thou governest the world. Thou treadest on the dark realms of Tartarus. The stars move responsive to thy command. The gods rejoice in thy divinity. The hours and the seasons return by thy appointment, And the elements reverence thy decree. Hear me, O Moon! Hear me, great Saviour! Listen, dread Hecate! A black lamb I bring thee.'

Then, seizing the lamb, she raised it to the altar and slew it, and the red blood danced o'er the marble shrine. And taking a golden vase filled with baneful oblation, she poured it over the victim, at the same time swinging the torch to and fro above her head, chanting:

'Come forth, thou moon, with propitious light. Cold, silent goddess! at this witching hour To thee I'll chant.

* * * * *

Hail, Hecate! prodigious demon, hail! Come at the last, and make the work prevail, That the strong brewage may perform its part, No worse than that was made by Circe's art, By bold Medea, terrible as fair, Or Perimedea of the golden hair.'

Then the earth shook, and spiral columns of vapour rose around the altar, and from each column came a spectre of fire and stood with outstretched hands.

The priestess placed the resinous wood around the sacrifice, and applying her torch, the altar was crowned with flame, and the spirits drew nigh and drank up the odour, dancing in wild fury around the pyre.

Then spoke Saronia:

'Ye wandering spirits, ye starving, lonely shades destined to require the sustenance ye seldom receive, take this oblation, drink ye in the nurture as it arises, take it from the great queen goddess through the hands of her priestess;' and the spirits chanted:

'Hail, Saronia! Hail, Saronia! Princess born And mighty priestess! Hail, thou minister of Tartarus! Feeder of the gods-forsaken ones! Blessings ever be upon thee, Blessings such as we can give, Thin and faint as misty vapour, Tinged with hell and cold damnation; Yet we bless thee as we may, For love a spark remains within us, And we wait for our redemption, Working out our fearful destiny, Till those we injured grant release, And the Mighty All Creative Pass us to the fields Elysian.'

* * * * *

They disappeared, and Saronia, the fearful priestess, was alone. Shielding her eyes that she might not look again upon the sacrifice, she turned to move away.

She had passed but a few steps from the altar when Chios came forth from his hiding-place and followed her. She heard his steps, and fearing to look around lest her sacrifice should be incomplete, kept on her way to the Temple of Hecate.

Chios was soon by her side. She gazed for a moment on his face, and fell to the ground as dead.

He raised her carefully, bore her to the foot of a great laurel-tree, and taking his cloak, placed her on it, and bent over her in agony.

'O fool, what hast thou done? Thou hast slain her! O cursed hour! Shades of night, seize me, take me to your Hades, torture me, but, holy heavens, restore Saronia! O cruel fate! Most cruel destiny! What cause is there for this?'

The talisman! the shrine he wore! the gift! He had heard of its wondrous power. He tore it from his neck, and placed it on her chilly brow.

* * * * *

Her eyes opened, and she essayed to rise.

Chios moved to help her; but, no, she sprang to her feet, and stepping back from him, looked like a tigress at bay. For a moment words would not flow at her command, but her eyes burnt into his very soul, and still she spoke not.

He wished a thousandfold he had never dared to confront her in such a dreadful place and against such fearful odds. He knew he was observed by troops of invisible beings thirsting for vengeance, and that one word of hers would loose them, those hounds of hell, in all their fury. He feared them not. 'Twas the scathing, burning eyes of the priestess which withered him—so changed from love to hate.

All those thoughts passed through his mind with the force of a whirlwind. He felt he had penetrated like a robber within the magic circle of her power, taking mean advantage of her secret life, betraying all confidence. What was to be done? He would not pass like a dream—a horrid dream—to her; that would end all. No, he must finish his work, whatever might follow. He would speak to her.

'Saronia, forgive me; I am mad. I know not what unknown power compels me to this wicked act. I could not stay from thee. As the stars vibrate to each other, so my soul to thine. Speak, Saronia! I have dared death to see thee, to speak to thee. Answer me, Saronia! Let me hear thy dear, sweet voice, even if it be a curse thou utterest.'

She stood forth again in all her majesty; her great spirit had gained supremacy; her eyes shone forth like diamonds wet with dew, and she said:

'What evil fate brings thee here? Death awaits both if mortal eye beholds us. For thy many acts of kindness I overlook thy madness. Thou knowest the way, return quickly, and never intrude thyself again. One word: thou hast been spectator of the rites and mysteries, hast seen my power. Understand, I could raise armies, if needs be, to destroy thee—could blast thee like a tree whose life has passed, by one fell stroke of lightning. Now away, no more!'

'Saronia! Saronia! Bear with me but for one brief moment! Hear my story, then I go.'

'Why should I? Thou knowest full well I am dedicated to my faith, to my goddess. Why tempt me to evil?'

'Saronia, I have striven hard to avoid this, and before to-night have succeeded. I could no longer bear this worse than death, and have sought thee here to tell thee I love thee, have ever loved thee, even when thou wert a slave. I have thrown aside the glamour of the world for one sweet word from thee.'

'How can I help thy love?'

'Thou canst return it by one sweet smile of pity—pity is the twin sister of love.'

'I will give thee no encouragement. I swear by the hosts above, around, and beneath that I repel Chios the lover, and make it known clearly to thee I stand pure and unsullied before the goddess I have just evoked. Shame on thee! Thou wouldst shake the strong foundation on which my spirit rests. Away, I say again, for fear she whom I serve may compel me to curse thee! Go!'

'Before I say farewell, perchance for ever, is this thy shrine, this trinket thine?'

'Yes. I sought shelter, not knowing whither. Two statues standing near the doorway caught my gaze, and through the open door I beheld thy prostrate form. Thinking death or sickness visited Chios, I entered, remembering thy goodness. Thou wert asleep and sighing forth my name. I foolishly placed that little token on thy breast, and the Fates have worked it well so far as it is concerned, for by its power thou hast brought back my life—not that my death would have been of great moment, but thy crime would have been magnified and thy suffering intense. Little did I think such small pretext as a simple act of gratitude from me would have brought thee here. Now I have told thee all. Go, for thy life!'

'No, I will stay. My determination is strengthening, my mission is pure; no harm can come to thee. I think not of myself. Listen! There will come a time when thou wilt be free from this thraldom of priestcraft, when that spirit of thine will live on in the Elysian. I will live well and ever love thee, and this is my story to-night. I will love thee as lasting as the sun, wait on for thy emancipation, and meet thee in the spirit-world. When each shall have performed its earth-life, then thy spirit shall be united to mine through the depths of an everlasting life. Wilt thou betroth thyself to me in this wise? No harm can come of this spirit love, and it cannot fail to bless. Saronia of the great unfathomable soul, looking out of those eyes so full of mystic meaning, can this be so? Bind thyself to me! Be mine when death shall sever the silver chain! This is all I ask. I know thou lovest me; those silent tears betray thee, and thy eyes speak love—love filtering through the mystic faith, love that is stronger than death. Speak, Saronia! Dost thou hear me?'

'I do. I hear all.'

'Wilt thou wed me for the next life?'

'What shall I do, Chios? Thou hast discovered my hidden love. I cannot lie. I will meet thee in the great hereafter. I am thine, when my mission here be accomplished—thine through all eternity!'

'Shall I plant a kiss upon thy brow, Saronia, sealing our vows?'

'Dost thou not fear this awful thing?'

'No. I care not for death now. If I go, I will wait for thee and for love; thou wilt not long survive. Methinks our spirits have already been one. If I fall, thou wilt not remain long away. Death will hasten our union.'

Then, taking her head between his hands, he kissed her, and kissed the silver shrine, and moved out into the gloom.

* * * * *

The night passed, the day came forth in rosy splendour, such a day as is only experienced in the beautiful Ionian land.

The air was balmy and perfume laden, the winds scarcely stirred the trembling leaves, the birds sang with joyous notes—all Nature smiled.

Chios passed through the myrtle garden to his studio, but the brush was powerless in his hand. Last night's adventure was uppermost in his thoughts, as well it might be. It was in his sober moments when judgment reigned, and love lay calmly on his soul, that he became fully aware of what he had done. He leant against a pillar, and reflected upon his position. He had entered into the fight, he had broken the ranks. He was a mariner who must weather the gale on the deck of his craft. There was no escape for him, neither did he desire one.

He, like a master mind, surveyed his position. He had pledged his love to one who could never return it on earth. He would walk alone until his release. Joy in anticipation of their reunion was sufficient for him. True, he felt there was a great disparity in their relative positions—she a mighty priestess, he a sceptic of her faith. But what of that? He believed in Saronia, and she believed in him. Let the faiths go to the winds! If he found not a new god that he might worship—well, then he would make Saronia the goddess of his soul, and worship her with a love that would raise the jealousy of the gods. But if he found the great Spirit who demanded his love and service, then such should have his supreme adoration. But no god or goddess spoke to him. Therefore he knew no being superior to Saronia. She was his life; fearful as she was in her mighty incantations, he feared her not. Her mysteries he heeded not, the magic of her being satisfied his craving for union with that which completed the circle of his existence. He had found it in this lovely girl, and he measured this subtle, endless affinity against that which the world calls love, where men take wives for a fragment of time and think not, care not, whether that love continues in the great hereafter, and content themselves with the thought that they may be free when born anew from the womb of death. His love was a sacred love, a pure and perfect one, and he was happy amidst all the mazes of the circumstances by which he had made it known to Saronia.



CHAPTER XV

AT VENUSTA'S HOUSE

Day after day passed, and the friends of Chios were wont to note his thoughtfulness. It did not amount to moroseness; he was preoccupied, and his mind abstracted.

It was while he was in one of his deepest moods that Varro called, accosting the Greek in a pleasant way:

'How fares the world with thee, noble artist? Thou art in one of thy best humours—or art thou sad?'

'Neither,' replied he.

'Ah! I know: thou art grieving after Nika.'

'Nika?'

'Yes, Nika. Thou surely must have heard I wooed and won her?'

'Indeed, I have not; but I congratulate thee, my lucky fellow.'

'That is from thy heart and true, Chios?'

'It is.'

'Then we may be the fastest friends.'

'And what say Lucius and Venusta?'

'Delighted.'

'Good, very good!'

'And—yet another bit of news for you, Chios, for it seems thou art not a fruitful newsmonger.'

'What is it?'

'The sudden death of the High Priestess of Artemis.'

'Is it so?' and a deathly pallor spread over the face of Chios.

'Art thou ill?'

'No.'

'But I have not finished.'

'What more—not of gloom, I hope?'

'No; a sudden freak of fortune, if rumour speaks correctly.'

'Speak out.'

'Well, just this: it is commonly reported that the dark-eyed slave of Venusta will be elected to fill the place of the Arch-Priestess.'

'What! Saronia?'

'Yes, Saronia. Thou art her friend. True, her time as priestess has been very brief, but for that strange being it seems mortals suspend their laws just like the gods did theirs for the Hebrew, when the sun stood still that he might slay. Look at her! Just awhile since a slave. One fine day she took it into her head to run for sanctuary to the Temple, and got there—was received—commenced her studies. From this, in a most unprecedented way, bounded into the priesthood, and already, I am told, she stands out with fearful power and wonderful knowledge, inasmuch as the priestesses longest in the service stand back in awe and say: "She is the fittest to serve in chief the goddess, and command her servants." A High Priestess she will be, mark my words. There is a great destiny before that girl. I hear of her power from Nika. Somehow, she closely follows the course of Saronia, and speaks of her with dread. Why, I know not. Now, Chios, what thinkest thou of all this?'

'I think it passing strange. 'Tis like a dream. This is her destiny. She is no ordinary being. Her spirit towers above its fellows, and must command—— I will call at Venusta's at sundown. Perhaps we may hear more on this subject.'

'Do so, Chios, and I will meet thee. What art thou painting?'

'But little.'

'Ah, cunning dog! I saw thee turn thy picture quickly away as I entered, and, swiftly as thou didst it, I had time to catch a glimpse of a girl as High Priestess offering sacrifice to Hecate. Am I right?'

'Thou speakest knowingly, good Varro.'

'Chios, I am not wide of the mark, and shall I say the face was that of Saronia? Art thou a seer, Chios? After all, then, my news was not news to thee? Thou art a sly fellow!'

'No, I am not a seer.'

'Well, then, we will call thee painter; but one thing is certain, thou hast studied her closely, to remember her features so well. Thou hast a keen appreciation of the beautiful, and an excellent knowledge of the future, to paint Saronia as High Priestess. Farewell, Chios; I am off. We meet to-night, and may the gods be propitious!'

That evening Chios visited Venusta's home, the house of his friend. The Roman was there. Lucius had sailed o'er sunny seas to Britain. Nika seemed happy, and laughed with joyous glee as if she had never one day of sorrow.

Venusta was delighted to behold Chios, and said:

'Why hast thou kept so long from us? We thought thou wouldst never return, and long since looked up our stray sayings to find if perchance we might have unwittingly offended thee. But naught could we find whereby we could pronounce ourselves guilty, so concluded thou hadst found some pretty maid during the Artemision month, and wert busy preparing for thy nuptials. Is it so, Chios?'

'No.'

'Now, do not vex! Art grown thin-skinned, and cannot take this saying of mine as a joke?'

'Nay,' replied he, 'I am emphatic because I mean it. So many falsehoods are told by lovers that if I were not in earnest thou wouldst perhaps doubt my answer.'

'Ah! Thou hast not yet seen the ideal set up within thee. Never mind; persevere, Chios, and she may come to thee sooner than expected. Then we will take the laughing side, and thou must bear with all our points of wit. We will deal leniently; will not let an arrow fly when thy counterpart is near. No, we will be demure, as if we never spoke to thee of such a childish thing as love. Let us change the subject, Chios. Thou hast heard my dearest has left his home once more to visit foreign lands?'

'Yes, I heard. Lucius could not leave Ephesus without the poorest Ionian youth knowing it. He belongs to the people; they watch his coming home and leaving. I should have come to say farewell, but at the time I was prostrated by a touch of Ephesian fever. Not serious, but just enough, as Lucius would say, to make me haul on shore.'

'Yes, those beautiful savages have again rebelled against the Roman State, and the Emperor summoned Lucius with his fleet to the mouth of the Tiber to ship reinforcements for those distant parts. By this time he is well on his journey.'

'How long will he remain?'

'That is quite uncertain. I understand, after disembarking the soldiers, he will sail round the northern shores of the great island, and if the winds fail him the rowers will have a dreadful time, for by accounts the waters there are sluggish and leaden, inasmuch that strong winds driving on the shore make faint impressions on the lifeless seas. The gods speed him, and may he soon return. I have instructed him to bring a British girl for slave for Nika; and I truly hope, if he bring such, she may not be like that dark, mysterious one we owned, by name Saronia. She nearly frightened Nika out of her senses—did she not, girl?'

Nika was silent, and a gloom spread over her face like a funeral pall, and the joy of her life grew faint and low.

'I have been speaking of Saronia to Chios,' said Varro.

'And what thinkest thou of her, Chios?'

'Why should I say?' replied he.

'Speak on; we know thou wilt favour her.'

'What, then, do you wish me to say? I cannot speak as if I were delivering an oration on Saronia.'

'To be plain, then,' said Venusta, 'dost thou think it meet that this slave-girl should fill the throne of the High Priestess of Diana?'

'Yes, I do.'

'By what right or reason? Say on.'

'By being the fittest, if those who know her best speak the truth.'

'Oh, Chios, why are you so fascinated by this snake-like creature?'

'I am not fascinated, most noble Venusta. I speak as reason prompts me. If my reason is awry, then call me mad.'

'No, no; thou art not mad. If any man in Ionia has a well-balanced and healthy mind, it is thou; but, nevertheless, although I alter the picture on my mind of an innocent bird drawn on to destruction by the piercing eye of a snake, yet the conditions are the same within me, and I must say I cannot for my life understand why such a sensible man can be led by the charming of such a wicked girl.'

'She is not wicked; she is pure, and worthy of great consideration. All Ephesus speaks of her goodness.'

'But dost thou not know her spirit is so deeply imbued with the mysteries of her worship that it is said she with impunity treads the dark realms of Tartarus? Wherein, then, lies all her boasted goodness?'

'It may be so; but I warrant this, madam, if Saronia moves into those mysteries, and mixes with the spirits imprisoned, it is to minister to their wants, and not to add a pang to their unutterable woe.'

'Thou art incorrigible; and it is useless, I perceive, to talk to thee on this matter. Thou wilt awaken one day from this cloudy dream and see her in all her horror. Dost thou not fear her?'

'No; none need fear the good; it is the evil which haunts us.'

'Oh, mother,' cried Nika, 'do change this most uninteresting subject! Saronia is no longer under our control, and we may not speak of her in this manner without fear. She serves the goddess; let her be. Should fate call her to wear the diamond crown, what is that to thee? What is that to me?'

'So, so, pretty girl! Art thou taking to thyself the right to lecture me? Thou, above all, hast had more than enough of this foul serpent's venom thrust on thee; and I tell you all, if I have influence it shall be directed to drag her from the proud position to which her ambitious spirit soars, and I am certain Varro will aid me when I say Nika nearly paid with her life for the fright Saronia gave her. A wicked, designing enemy is she.'

'Gracious lady,' replied the Roman, 'I fear I cannot move in matters of religion. I should bring down a swarm of bees about my ears and odium on the power of Rome;' and he looked sideways with a smile towards Chios, but the face of the Greek was like marble—not a muscle moved. Then Varro continued: 'No, no; let her be. None may break her faith, neither Greek nor Roman; if she be not called by the goddess, then this rumour will float away into nothingness.'

'I suppose thou sayest truly; but one thing I know, were she priestess presiding, Venusta would not enter the Temple—no, not if it were the only pathway to the Elysian.'

'But,' said Chios, 'the Lady Venusta would witness the installation, should such take place, and favour me with her company?'

'Thanks; but that shall not be. I might cause thee perturbation;' and she smiled rather cynically, or Chios thought so.

Chios was thoughtful, and his gaze was through the open window away over the city towards the grove of Hecate, where the great trees peeped from behind the mountain of Pion.

A dead silence fell on all, which was broken by Nika saying:

'I should so much like thee to paint a picture of myself. Say, wilt thou? And when may I give thee first sitting?'

'When thou comest,' replied Chios, 'I will do my best.'

'Good!' said Venusta; 'thou shalt do it. I am sure it will do thee no harm to look intently on a face like hers. It might perhaps soften thy too sage-like brow; and then—who knows?—thou mightst captivate some lovely girl—eh?—as lovely as Nika. What sayest thou, noble lord of Rome?'

'True,' said he, 'it may be so; but I fear it is a hopeless case. He is a confirmed bachelor.'

'Perhaps not,' said Nika's mother. 'Who can tell? He may now be madly in love. Chios does such strange things. During his absence from us he may have taken a wife, and at any moment herald her forth as the fairest of Ionia. May it be so, noble Greek?'

'No; Samos may be levelled to the ocean bed, but thou wilt never—never see me wed.'

'Thou art dark again, Chios. Move aside, girl,' said Venusta; 'let the sun shine upon him;' but the face of Nika became clouded. She knew her mother's wit was wounding the heart of the only man she really loved.



CHAPTER XVI

A GARDEN ON CORESSUS

The evening grew old, but the light still lingered in the sky, and Venusta suggested a walk in the garden, seeing her daughter was agitated and careworn.

The soft winds moved the leaves of the silver poplar, the violet-scented air fanned their cheeks, the convolvuli were closing, and the narcissi nodded good-night; it seemed sacrilege to break in on the perfumed silence. Varro walked with Venusta, and Nika with the Greek. Chios was the first to speak:

'Thou art unhappy to-night, Nika. What ails thee?'

'Nothing. I am happy. The evening air is sweet and pleasant to my soul, and before thou didst speak I saw the first star glisten on the diadem of night—shining out like a Pharos to the mariner; and as he knows by it that land is nigh, so see I that star a beacon on the hills of a far-away haven which perchance I may never enter, but be shipwrecked at the last.'

'Poor girl, thou art indeed sad!'

'Yea, sad I am, yet happy in my sadness. Oftentimes I am sad and wretched withal; but to-night, I know not why, I am resigned—feeling as if some great, sad joy spread its wings around me for protection. Oh that I might ever continue so! I fear this is but a prelude to a storm-wind which shall rush over and break me as a hurricane would kill those lovely flowers.'

As she spoke a night-hawk passed with a shriek, and the evening star was hid with a cloud.

'Sawest thou that dreadful bird? Heard'st thou its wail, Chios?'

'Yea. What of it? It goes to its home on the cliffs of Coressus.'

'No, no! That is not all! It spoke as it flew—shrieked sounds of gloom, which the augurs understand; it means evil!'

'Dost thou believe the augurs, Nika?'

'I do, and the words of the priestess also.'

'Which priestess?'

'Saronia.'

'What of her?'

'Dost thou not know?'

'Thy mother told me something respecting an uttered curse.'

'What if she become High Priestess of Diana?'

'She would deal justly.'

'Thou dost not know how I fear that girl—how I fear her spell. I have tried to drown it, but it will not die. It mounts above the crested ocean of my pleasure, and, like the evil bird just passed, it wheels and shrieks around, and mars the joys that youth and the world give me.'

Just then the notes of a bird singing out its soul came forth from the myrtle-trees.

'Hearest that jubilant song? It compensates the evil omen. Light up, sweet face, with radiant smiles! Answer it back with joyous greeting!'

'No, I cannot. This omen is for Chios. Thou wilt joy. Thy life is tinged with richest colour—mine is shadowed with darkness. Thou art good! I see it all when too late.'

Venusta and Varro were returning, and met Nika and her companion. The Roman playfully remarked:

'Ionian, dost thou mean to steal my love?'

'No! If thou wert jealous, why quicken thy pace and leave us, like wounded birds or disabled ships, to follow in thy wake? Here she is safely brought, and as I have acted sea-pilot; thou shalt be the harbour guide, and take her into port. Do not miss your way, as lovers often do! Come, noble Venusta, let me be thy guide.'



CHAPTER XVII

THE PICTURE

The day arrived for the election of High Priestess of Diana, and, as was generally expected within the Temple, Saronia was chosen to occupy that exalted position. When the people heard of this they were amazed, for amongst them she was scarcely known, excepting for her kindly manner and beautiful presence. Few, if any, outside the Temple recognised in her any of those superior intellectual attainments which were expected in the person who undertook the highest and most sacred duties of the Temple. Consequent on the election of a comparatively unknown girl, inquiries were numerous, asking who she was and whence she came, springing like a comet out of the gray depths of the sky; and when reply was made that she had been a slave to the wife of Lucius, many marvelled, and said it was the hand of the goddess who raised one of low degree to sit upon the golden throne; whilst among the noble families of Rome great curiosity was manifested to glean from her former mistress what she was like—what was thought of her; in fact, they wished to know all about the former slave. And thus, in a brief period, Saronia became the most notable person in all Ephesus and throughout Ionia, into Lydia, Caria, Pamphylia and Phrygia, and over the sea to Greece.

It was during this excitement Nika came to the studio of Chios. It was her first visit. Never did the girl look more beautiful. She greeted the artist with a smile, and sat down upon one of the lovely couches. Casting aside her richly-embroidered cloak, she revealed her snow-white garments clinging in folds around her graceful form. Her hair fell forward on either side, leaving an arched temple smooth as marble, and waved away over her ears till it was caught by an azure ribbon flecked with gold. Then she laughed a merry peal of laughter, and said:

'Art thou glad to see me?'

'I am, Nika. Thou bringest sunshine into the place. It lights up thy face and twinkles like stars in thy beautiful hair. One requires a cheerful sitter to make a good likeness, for, after all, the poor artist has only a few pigments to portray the loveliest of creatures.'

'Now, now, silence, flatterer! To business. How intendest thou to treat the subject which may represent me? Say, wilt thou paint me as Ariadne in Naxos?'

'No; the subject ill befits these joyous times. Ariadne lost her lover; thou hast gained one, and retainest him with chains of brass. I will paint thee as thou reclinest. Keep thou the cheerful mood, and Nika shall see how she looks when she is happy.'

'Must I not rearrange those wandering locks?'

'No; the light dances between the shadows like children at play. Let them remain.'

'Very well, Chios. Thou art an obliging man. I will do my best to remain as steady as Olympus. May I converse?'

'Freely, if thou pleasest.'

After the sitting was completed, she felt that she had never spent a happier day, and said:

'When may I come again?'

'To-morrow, at the same hour. I will paint thee whilst in such merry mood. Good-bye, Nika; greetings to thy mother.'

The next day, and from time to time, she came to Chios, until the painting was well-nigh finished.

One evil day she came and reclined upon her accustomed couch. Chios was absent. After a while she arose, and moved around the room. Behind a curtain of splendid tapestry, half hid, she saw a picture o'er which was thrown a screen of yellow silk. She would see the painting on the hidden panel; she would lift the veil—see the goddess. What fun she would have with Chios! Perchance 'twas some Ionian beauty or Carian girl who had smitten him suddenly. Should she risk it? Yes—no—perhaps he might come swiftly and be annoyed. So she moved away—stood still for a moment.

'See it I must. If caught, I will laugh away his censure—shine out on him in all my splendour and burn up his reproof.'

So she stepped forward and raised the yellow silk concealing the picture of Saronia as High Priestess of Diana, and as that dark, mysterious face met her gaze, she uttered a piercing shriek, and fell to the ground. Chios heard it, and rushed within. Seeing the curtain disturbed, he took in the whole position, and, darting forward, found Nika lying unconscious. He raised her and laid her on the couch. Her flowing hair had burst its bands and fallen over her shoulders. He tried to rouse her, called her name, and said: 'Chios is here, Nika, awake!' But she lay as one who was dead.

What could be done? Her bosom heaved—she was not dead—she would come to again. He could not leave her for assistance, for if she awoke and found herself alone, she might die. He knelt by her side, and chafed her hands; but it was of no avail. Just then a thought came into his mind. He would paint her as she slumbered in that death-like swoon. He seized his brushes, and quickly wrought a picture—sketchy, but true—and when it was drawn he called it 'Death.' Then came signs of awakening. Tears flowed from the half-opened eyes, and rushes of colour, like the morning sunrise, stole over her cheeks. Then the mists cleared away, and she saw Chios kneeling before her, and, with a wild, convulsive start, she fell upon his neck, crying, 'Save me! save me!'

And Chios answered:

'Thou art safe. What fearest thou?'

'I fear the face of Saronia. I shall never forget it. It is like when I fell before her as she cursed me.'

'Calm thyself! I tell thee again there is nothing to fear. I am with thee—no harm shall befall.'

'Dost thou not fear her thyself?'

'No.'

'Then—thou lovest her?'

'What madness seizes thee? How can I love a sacred priestess of the holy Temple?'

'A woman is quick to read a man. Whether thou knowest it fully or not, I tell thee thou lovest Saronia, the chief of the priestesses of the mighty goddess. Chios, thou hast power over this fearful being! Oh that she were not a priestess!'

'Why so? What difference would it make to thee?'

'All.'

'Tell me what thou meanest.'

'This. If it were possible for thee to approach her, thou couldst intercede for me. The curse might be removed from off this soul; bit by bit, as the sun darkens by eclipse, so my spirit grows more night-like, and soon my lamp shall go out in darkness. I know it is impossible for thee to speak to her, or I would ask thee, but canst thou not send to her privately? Love thee I am certain she does. This curse somehow sharpens my intellect, and my inner sight is clearer. I perceive things which wound me sorely. If she loves thee, she cannot deny thee. Wilt thou help me? Thou hatest me not, neither dost thou love me. All this I have seen long since; but I love thee dearly. What need have I to say this? Thou art already aware of it. It is not meet I should thus speak, seeing I am betrothed to Varro. It is not chaste to unburden my feelings in this manner, but my so doing will not injure the Roman or conjure up the fire of love in Chios for Nika. No, it will not harm.'

'Nika!'

'Listen, Chios. I would die for thee. Is not this love worthy of thy regard, worthy of an effort on thy part? Wilt thou not take pity on a poor outcast soul? And, Chios, if thou art vexed with me for divining thy love for Saronia—vexed with my love for thee—then, if I cannot banish such love—the curse of a love for thee without a love in return—then, forgive me, and I will bury it, that it may never rise again from the grave of my heart. Oh, help me—help me!'

'Nika, hear me calmly. There was a time when I could speak to Saronia; but she now soars to an altitude unapproachable, and I can follow her only afar off. I dare not send a message to her. She, who stands first of Ionian women, Queen of the World next the goddess, how is it possible?'

'Chios, all things are possible whilst life lasts. If death cut us down in the endeavour, then there is an end of it; but to dare unto death requires love stronger than life. Command me to see her on thy behalf, and I will speak to her or die in the attempt.'

'Good girl, I do not require thine assistance. I have no message for her. How can I help thee? Would that I could! Let me think for a moment. I have a plan—the Roman! Thou hast influence with him, say?'

'He adores me.'

'Then propose to him that I paint Saronia. Thou hast seen the picture. It is like her, is it not?'

'It is, truly so.'

'Well, no one knows I am engaged on this work but Varro, and he caught a glimpse of it; we can make it necessary that I should see her at the Temple. If the Roman offer to present the picture, this will be granted. He is wealthy and can pay a large sum for the painting, but I will return every coin. If my greatest work can aid you, freely, freely will I give it; but, hear me, this will be a fruitless endeavour.'

'How so?'

'Because, if such a curse is on thee, it is not the curse of Saronia. She would not blast thee. If such a thing exists, it is the curse of Hecate. The priestess had never the power to conceive it, neither the strength to kill it; but hear me further. I do not believe thou art cursed. My view of a presiding demon or divinity runs not in such direction. Gods and goddesses roam not to and fro blasting spirits of mortals in such manner. It is an idea born of older times, and doubtless will survive down the ages until men grow wiser; then such nonsense will be looked upon with ridicule, and become a thing of the past.'

Nika shuddered, and said:

'Would I could think so! I know what I say is true—I am as certain of it as that I exist. Were I bereft of reason and madness clothed me as with a garment, yet this curse, burnt into my soul with letters of fire, would be understood in all its power to me.'

'It is useless talking to thee, foolish girl. I will do as thou wishest with the picture of Saronia.'

'And I will away and do my part, and hope, ere many days are ended, thy project may bear fruit.'

Pale and agitated, she arose to go. Chios said:

'I will accompany thee and pay my respects to thy mother;' and gathering a bunch of orange-blossom and roses, he gave them to Nika.



CHAPTER XVIII

WARNING

As they passed the gateway, Endora, the witch, stood by and gazed at the girl and Chios. The maiden pitied her, and gave her a coin of gold. The old woman looked up, first at Chios; then, turning to Nika, said:

'May the choicest flowers of life ever strew thy pathway, fair lady, and may the goddess—— But stay, I cannot bless thee. I have no power to do so. Would that I could!'

As they passed away, she muttered:

'I cannot even try to bless her; she is accursed of Hecate—I read it too well. Ah, ah, ah! She is like unto me: both are outcasts; she in the heyday of youth and flowing over with wealth, I an old hag and poor as a barren rock, save for this bit of gold. The goddess is no respecter of persons. What can be the sin of this golden-haired beauty? Mine I know. I will unravel hers. Where does she go, I wonder? And with Chios? And he gave her the richest flowers. I will follow far behind. My sight is keen. I will know where she perches.'

So Endora followed, and saw them enter the house of Venusta. The witch accosted a little child.

'Knowest thou the lady of this dwelling, innocent one? I am seeking alms, and would know her name.'

'The lady of the house?' replied the girl.

'Yes, of this one,' pointing with her finger. 'This house,' and she pierced through the eye of the child, who started back with dread. 'Tell me, quickly, who resides within.'

'Venusta, wife of Lucius, the Roman sailor.'

'And who was that fair maid who passed in with the noble Greek?'

'That was Nika, her daughter.'

Endora moved off, murmuring, 'Nika! Nika!' A sudden frenzy seized her; her eyes glared out like spots of fire.

'Nika, is it? Ah, I know her pride! She hunted the chosen of Hecate, and now she loves without being beloved, and the curse is strong upon her. She has her reward. Starving am I, and this coin would buy food; but I will never use it. No, back it shall go to the giver! The flying slave, starting eyes, haunted look, speak to me. I helped to save, encourage Saronia. I will never fatten on the alms of her enemy! No, no; outcast as thou art, poor soul of mine, I will not taint thee further by accepting such as this.'

So she went back to the girl to whom she had spoken, and said:

'Take thou this golden coin to the slave who stands in yonder vestibule and say it belongs to Mistress Nika, that she gave it to a woman at the gate of Chios, and that the woman has no use for it. Now go, quickly, and perhaps she may reward thee. I would, but have none to give.'

For very fear the child took the money within, and the witch Endora passed on her way.

As the woman went by the Temple, a company of priestesses passed the outer walls and made for the grand entrance. She hurried forward and overtook them, singling out a striking form, one whom she could not mistake, and, rushing to the front, fell prostrate at her feet, crying:

'Mercy, lady, mercy; hear me! Do not turn aside. Rather would I ye should use me to clean the dust from off thy sandals ere ye enter the sacred courts.'

'What hast thou to say?'

'Mighty priestess, thou art Saronia.'

'I am.'

'Did I not tell thee, noble lady, thy star rode upwards in the Eastern sky? and now its light so strong, so splendid, beats upon thee, that thou art like a silver moon among the stars. Hear me, great priestess, I implore thee. Think of Endora, vile and steeped in iniquity. Pray for me that I may be forgiven—pray for me!'

And with a cry she fell to the ground.

'Take her within,' said Saronia, 'and see that she be cared for. I will follow.'

Then they raised her, and the poor thing staggered through the great court.

The priestess was soon at the side of the wretched woman, and two attendants ministered to her wants. When she revived, Saronia dismissed the girls, saying:

'Alone I will listen to this tale of grief.'

When they had departed, she took Endora's hand in hers.

'Art thou better? Say on thy story.'

'I am base, worse than thou dreamest. True, I was weak, faint for want of food; but I am not penitent. I have no desire to be forgiven. Deeper sunk is my soul by this pretending, this false asking pardon through thy intercession with the goddess. No, no, no; my spirit is too dark, too damned for cleansing! I have another motive.'

'Vile woman, what dost thou mean?'

'I come to tell thee of Nika.'

'Nika? Nika of Lucius?'

'Yes.'

'Stay thy speech, then; she is dead to me. I have no desire to hear more of her.'

'But, dreadful Saronia, thou shalt hear that I have to say! Thou hast a woman's heart, and will listen as I go on. She has been thine enemy—still is—she lurks in thy pathway. Venusta is as bad, if not worse. Both would singe thy wings, sacred as thou art, and draw thee down to be the sport of Ephesus, nor stay their tongues at any lie.'

'What meanest thou? How knowest thou this?'

'How do I know? Do not slaves leave their homes by stealth and come to the wise woman Endora that she may read their fate? Such is the case. One night, under cover of darkness, a slave slid from the jewelled home of the Romans, and sought my wretched den. 'Twas then I plucked from out the bosom of the frightened one the secrets of Venusta's house. She overheard her mistress say that all in her power should be done to drag thee down, appealing at the same time for aid from the Roman Proconsul, who has just arrived from Rome to rule Ionia. But—I have more to tell thee. Thou knowest Chios, the Greek?'

'Thou art growing too familiar, Endora.'

'I am aware of it, august lady, but this familiarity is but the outcome of my strong desire to aid thee. I will say my say if cast to death for it. Remember we serve one goddess. Thou art blessed; I a rebel and cursed. But Hecate is our goddess. I say thou knowest Chios; I know it to be so, I noted his kindness when thou wert a slave. Rememberest thou the time when, standing without the great theatre, waiting the bidding of the Roman reptile, he came and spoke words of comfort to thee—to thee? And below, in the depths of thy heart, are many cherished windings of the past wherein he lit thee through the briars.'

'Cease, woman: no more of this! I may arise and destroy thee. Darest thou insult the servant of Diana?'

'I insult thee not; I tell the truth, and truth is a rare commodity with me. Thou canst slay me! If I lie, then would I fear, but, speaking the truth, I make thine hands weak and thy wings weary. Once more I say at that time thou lovedst him, and could not help doing so; and this also I assert: Chios loves Saronia—Chios is content to feed on those memories of the past, and so art thou. Thou art forbidden by thy office to love other than the goddess, but I tell thee woman must love, and in secret I know thou must keep this love aglow—eternally so—like a vestal flame; and woe, I say, to the woman that crosses thy path to kill this light, to put out this flame! Now, such a being is Nika—Nika, the Roman girl; she attempts it. I have told thee; I have warned thee.'

'Thou talkest madly. What have I to do with Nika or Chios?' And, pointing towards the great Temple, Saronia exclaimed: 'There is the gateway to my only love!'

'No, no, lovely priestess! I am right, and thou must hear me to the end, and then, if thou desirest, may'st destroy me. 'Twas but to-day I stood at the gate of Chios asking charity, when he and Nika came forth. One could see by her face beaming with radiance that words of tenderest meaning clung like flowers of jasmine around her heart, and she bore in her hands richest blossoms of varied hue culled from the garden of Chios. Now, mark well what I am about to say. He loves her not—of this I am certain, but she has drawn him with her subtle wiles and may bind him as a slave—bind him with her web as a spider chains a fly. He is a good man being netted by an artful fowler; a part of their hate for thee would be gratified could they but take Chios in their snare, make him their tool in bringing forth their darkest designs on thee. I warn thee of this treacherous girl and her wolf-like dame. Take heed. Beware, lest Chios and Nika join them for thy destruction.'

'How didst thou know Chios?'

'Have I not told thee I saw him near the great theatre talking to thee when thou worest the robe of golden brown, the badge of slavery?'

'True.'

'Yes, Chios I knew well, but the girl I knew not. And, when they passed, she with the golden hair gave me a coin—a coin of gold. I would have blessed her, and commenced—but failed. Even if I had blessed her, my blessings would have been empty words; but even such I could not bestow, for, as I spoke, I looked into her eyes and read her accursed of Hecate.'

'Hush! 'tis fearful!'

'I hurried after to know her name, and saw her enter a sumptuous home on the slope of Coressus, and was told it was Venusta's place, and she who entered Nika, the daughter. I sent the golden disc within, saying I needed it not. I could not take alms from the accursed girl, the young tigress who would have maimed thee—killed thee! This is my story. I go.'

'Hast thou more to say?'

'No, noble priestess. Let me go. The truth is said. Now I am weak again, and thou couldst crush me as a moth between the fingers, or I might presumptuously fly too near the flaming lamp and be my own destroyer.'

'I cannot let thee go as thou earnest, in poverty. Thou wilt, I am sure, take from my hands these bits of gold in place of that thou sacrificedst for me. They will buy thee food and wine and raiment, and help to give some little joy. Go thy unhappy way. I pity thee, Endora—I pity thee, and I tell thee I will care for myself; but no harm can come to me whilst I follow that which is good.'

Saronia left her, retired to her private chamber, and threw herself down to rest awhile. She believed all the woman had said. She had faith in Chios, but would he be firm amidst the temptations which beset him? Then she arose, and walked to and fro the room like a caged lion. She could not move out and wage warfare; it was an unequal fight. What could she do? For a moment jealousy sat upon the throne of reason, and she became fearful to look upon. Should she, in the might of her fury, blast this girl before her time? Should she pour forth her mystic spells until they consumed her very vitals? No! She would, at any rate, if war must come, battle with her, spirit against spirit, woman against woman. For the present she would wait events.

She wished now she had kept Endora, and bade her bring news from the hum of the busy world. Never mind; she could summon her at will. One thought could fetch her. She was mightier in will than the wise woman, and, as Hecate could summon her priestesses, so Saronia could call the witch.



CHAPTER XIX

THE DAWN OF FAITH

The day had arrived, and Varro and Chios were to meet the priests and priestesses concerning the picture of Saronia. Many eyes were turned upon them until they entered the Temple and were hidden from view.

When the time came for the Roman to approach the High Priest, he addressed him thus:

'Most noble of the Megalobyzi, most exalted among men, king of priests, High Priest of the great Diana, whose fame extends from Central Rome to Britain in the West, where stands a temple to her name—fame which extends not only from the centre to the West, but back again through the great world until it grasps the lands and islands of the far-off East, we, in all humility, and for the great veneration in which we hold the goddess, would help to honour the name of her great High Priestess, Saronia, before whom we bow lowly, and salute her first among women, by presenting to this holy shrine a picture truly painted of this noble virgin, that her goodness and beauty may ever appear before the eyes of the worshippers of her august mistress, Diana Triformis.'

Then replied the chief Megabyzus:

'Have we an artist in Ephesus who could do justice to our noble queen?'

'We have,' said Varro; 'Chios the Greek. This is he.'

'Good, most esteemed Proconsul, but remember it is enacted that the High Priestess cannot leave the precincts of the Temple to sit for this picture.'

'That we know, and to this end have secured the help of Chios, who knows well the face of great Saronia, and he has almost finished the work. Wouldst thou, in the name of the goddess, accept it from my hands?'

'We will, and mayest thou, good artist, prosper in thy work, and consider thyself fortunate that this honour is conferred on thee, the honour of immortalizing the loveliest woman since the time of Helen.'

'Most noble priest, I am thine humble servant, and reverence thy creed.'

But as Chios raised his eyes to those of Megabyzus, he saw them filled with a strange fire—eyes like those of an evil spirit, gleaming behind the living windows of darkling hue. It was but for a moment, and the priest turned to Saronia, saying:

'Thy consent to us already has been given. Wouldst thou speak to these noble friends?'

Then the girl, in her beauty and power, addressed the Roman in accents sweet and queenly, thanking him for the gift; and, looking on Chios as if she had never before seen him, said:

'Noble artist of the Ephesian city, when wilt thou scan my features—say when—and in what part of this Temple may I linger that thy efforts may be complete?'

'I purpose to trouble thee but little, mighty priestess. I will come when thou art offering sacrifice at the altar, and gaze on thy splendour afar off. As it has been said, the painting is well-nigh finished. I have beheld thee often when I worshipped here. Thy lineaments are graven on my memory. When word is sent me I will come.'

'Well, it shall be quickly,' said she, adding, with a smile: 'Before my beauty fades, if any there be. Come to-morrow at the hour of sacrifice, and thou wilt see Saronia.'

When they had retired, she meditated within: 'What meaneth this strange proceeding? The affianced of Nika presenting the picture of Saronia to the Temple, and Chios to paint it. There is evil afloat. The stormy petrel skims the waves. I will find from Chios the meaning of this secret work. No good for me can come from the house of Venusta. Be patient, Saronia, and thou shalt learn all. I will contrive to speak with Chios. Out of his heart of love he will tell me all. His eyes looked into mine: his mind was pure and shaped towards me. Good Chios, I trust thee, but I will try thee.'

* * * * *

The next day when he arrived the Temple was full of song—white-robed priests and virgins stood around the altar offering their devotions, whilst the incense-cloud rose upward through the open roof like a morning mist hanging around the mountain.

He was seated in a nook of the Temple where great pillars hid him from view. He heard not the morning song nor saw the incense-cloud ascend; he saw but one object, and that was Saronia, with uplifted eyes filled with radiant mystery, beseeching Heaven, the loose drapery hanging in snowy folds around her form and falling to her feet.

One half-hour, with such intent as Chios had, was worth a lifetime to a meaner man. Every touch of the brush told, and ere the service ended he rested, and gazed passionately on her he loved so well.

The song sank down to a whisper and died, burying its harmonies among the mighty marble pillars. Priestesses and priests moved away, leaving Saronia alone at the great altar, looking like the goddess of the shrine. For a moment she was silent, standing like a statue of Scopas; then she beckoned Chios to come forward, and moved away from the flower-strewn altar to meet him. The eyes of the girl spoke love—softest, tenderest love—but the face of Chios was like the granite rock of Bolerium. He knew he faced the opening through which the priests had passed, and feared to smile. Her lips parted, and she said:

'Chios, what brings thee here? There is mystery in it all.'

'Thou hast truly said. I have a mission to speak for Nika. My words must necessarily be few and to the point. She pines with the weight of the curse of Hecate, and asks thy intercession.'

'Ah! I see through it all. Nika, the torturer, the serpent, would rob Saronia, and thou, half-hearted, art tottering on thy throne.'

'No, Saronia. Hear me!'

'I will not. Listen thou to me. If this curse were removed, thou wouldst marry her. She knows thou never wilt whilst it remains. I have not power to undo what my goddess binds. Had I, Saronia would never be the one to feather an arrow for Nika. No, no; go thy way! Choose ye whom ye will love. I will never force thee to love me, neither will I help thee to love another. Farewell!' and, turning sharply, she went, and as she passed away turned again, and gave one look of love, so tenderly that the great tears swept down the cheeks of Chios. She saw them, and read his answering love.

* * * * *

He was alone. The Temple, with all its grandeur, was a tomb. He staggered to a seat, and for a while seemed as if his soul had gone away. Then, arousing himself, he gazed long and lovingly at the spot where she had stood near the altar steps, and then went out into the fierce glare of the sun.

Passing from the Temple, he espied a stranger coming towards him. As he approached, he discovered him to be the man he met very nearly at the same place when the great procession passed.

'We have met again,' said Judah. 'How hast thou fared? Thou dost not seem happy.'

'Thou hast rightly said. I suffer.'

'Perhaps I may comfort thee. It will not be the first time I have ministered to such complaint.'

'No, thou canst not. My sorrow is too deep to be fathomed, and too sacred to expose.'

'I like thy thoughts, young man. Wert thou taught them yonder?' pointing towards the Temple.

'No; they are the fruit of a mind that receives no impetus from such fraud as so-called worship is.'

'Thou speakest strongly. What knowest thou of worship? A mind perturbed like thine is like a troubled sea, with never a place for calm. The worshipping soul is not thine.'

'True, friend; I may not be a worshipper, neither wish to be one. This life is a mystery; the next a deeper one. If we cannot understand this earth-life, and are unable to trust mortals whom we see and know, how, then, can we trust those whom we have not seen?'

'Shall we bestow our affections on the gods, who may not exist save in our imagination, or, if they be, for all we know, they may ridicule our adoration, make sport of us, tools of us to suit some purpose in pursuit of their own glory.'

'Art thou a philosopher?'

'I am an artist.'

'Why followest thou this profession?'

'Because I love it.'

'Hast thou fame, riches?'

'Yea, sufficient.'

'Why dost thou work?'

'That I may portray Nature in her beauteous forms, and give them forth to the people, that they may ever have the truth in trees and flowers and the ever-changing sea.'