"No," she said; "I do not love you. Why should I? We love those who serve us well—"
"Ah! but I have promised," he broke in. "I am giving you everything."
"I want but one thing," she said, while the lines of her mouth hardened; "and, for that, I take no promise."
He lowered his head to avoid the straight flash of her eyes.
"It is I, then, who must trust—always I," he muttered. "How do I know you will give yourself when I earn you?—how do I know you will not kill yourself with that dagger? for you hate me," and then, with sudden fierceness; "why should I not take my own? What hinders me?"
"This," said Marcia, touching the point with her finger.
Iddilcar shuddered.
"Listen now," she began, "and be reasonable. I have named my price, and you have said it is not too much. Why speak of love or hate? Earn me and take me."
"Yes," he echoed; for he was braver when his eyes studied the pavement; "why speak of love or hate? It is you I want—your kisses, your embraces. Who shall say that hatred may not flavour them better even than love?" and he sneered. "Ah! but how shall I know?"
"I am a Roman, and I have promised. Fulfil your Punic word as well, and I swear you shall have your pay, so surely,"—and then the memory of another day, happier, but oh! so bitterly regretted, came to her mind,—"so surely as Orcus sends not the dead back from Acheron. Now go."