CHAPTER VIII.
WAITING FOR THE VICTIM.
On the departure of Tharsos, Myrtis had turned and said—
"Thy brother's signal, as thou hast told me, Coryna. Come! let us go."
"It is, but—not yet, dear Myrtis," was the answer in a voice of gentle firmness.
"And in the face of thy brother's strong desire thou art waiting to witness the foul torture and death of a lady refined and good—our fellow-countrywoman too!"
"I shall not behold that," replied the maiden with earnest, hopeful light in her dark hazel eyes: "some brave man will appear; but if not, then I shall turn my back or fly when"—She dared not finish, and Myrtis added—
"When the lion springs. Oh! my Coryna, let us go. This is the work of demons."
"I cannot, Myrtis, I cannot. I shall know the end sooner here."
"There can be but one end, my dear. The cruel crafty managers, bribed to get rid of the maiden without more delay, as Tharsos informed thee, planned this well. What man with a mere dagger could slay a lion? A naked man too. Coryna, the whole work is contemptible, contemptible!" And the deep blue eyes of Myrtis flashed forth her scorn, as she looked down into the arena and scanned it swiftly round till her attention rested anxiously at the eastern end.
"The Romans love effect," Coryna answered bitterly, as she unconsciously twisted her long gold necklace around her thumb,—"The solitary fight will be a striking contrast to the battle that has been."
"There will be no fight, my dear. Who would take such a risk for a woman, a Christian too? But I shall wait with thee, Coryna, and get a glimpse of the poor maiden, and let us hope that her God will help her."
Coryna did not speak, but her expressive face told her gratitude and hope.
The conversation was stopped by the loud blast of trumpets, indicating that another awful act was to begin; and the great hum of voices ceased. The sand was clear of everything, as if a bare, vast, oval table, and all faces were turned toward the eastern extremity of the arena, morbidly hungering for more scenes of skill and blood.