The Galilean had accepted her challenge and he had conquered, and she was naught in the heart of the one man she would have given her whole life to call her own.
She gave a cry like a wounded bird, she jumped to her feet, and for one moment stood up, splendid, wrathful, pagan to the heart.
"Curse thy god," she cried wildly, "curse him, I say, for a jealous, cruel god.... Go thy ways, O follower of the Galilean! go thy ways! and when lonely and wretched thy footsteps lead thee along that way which thou hast deified, then call on him, I say—thou'lt find him silent to thy prayer and deaf unto thy woe!"
Her body swayed, an ashen pallor spread over her cheeks, she would have fallen backwards like a log had he not caught her in his arms.
Reverently he carried her to the couch and there he laid her down, wrapping her grey shroud-like tunic closely round her feet.
He bent over her and kissed her golden hair, each blue-veined lid closed in unconsciousness, the perfect lips pallid now and still.
"In the name of Him Who died before mine eyes, take her in Thy keeping, O God!" he murmured fervently.
Then without another glance on her, he fled precipitately from the room.