“I am no huckster,” he urged, flushing angrily. “They are the free gift of a free Greek. I ask no love in return. I only ask that you become my bride and let me teach you love.”
She mutely shook her head.
“Put them on,” he ordered abruptly. “Your mother has pledged you to me. You are mine; but I will not claim you till you come willingly to my arms.”
“Because you command me, I put them on. I must obey you as long as I remain in my mother’s house.” She fastened the filigree clasps to her ears and thrust the silver mirror in her sash.
The man sat in the window studying her. The rabble round the speaker in the square below was growing noisier.
“Thecla,” asked the man abruptly. “Is it that you love some one else?”
The girl turned her full gaze upon him. Her eyes were deep blue. Her lashes were long and black and curling. Her brows were arches penciled fine as if done by an artist; and her whole face glowed with a radiance as of sun dawn in spring. Her breathing quickened.
“Yes, Thamyris, I love some one else; but you can never understand.”
“Not this beggarly babbler, Paul, with the changing names and magic?” he shouted.
“No,” she said. Her glance dropped. “Not Paul. That is why I said you would never understand. It is Paul’s Master—the Christ—I love—”