Seti found Rachel sitting in her sedan and looking more like collapsed alabaster than a human being—her eyes closed, every trace of color gone from her cheek, and yet with an expression that told of a desperate struggle for self-mastery.
She opened her eyes as she felt Seti’s hand on her arm.
“O grandfather, how could you allow that dreadful combat to go on!”
“What, have you then been a witness of it all? I had forgotten that it was possible. My poor child—it was indeed too much for any lady, save a Roman accustomed to a Roman arena!”
“I had no idea of what was coming when I went over to the other side of the gallery with the rest. And they pressed me to the best window for seeing and hearing: once there I was under a spell. I could not tear myself away. I felt obliged to see and hear though I died in the act. Every sense was acute beyond anything I can remember. Oh how I suffered at the earlier stages of that last conflict! It seemed as if I could neither stay nor get away. It was awful. I was amazed that my companions did not seem to mind the scene as I did. Why did you not interfere?”
“I hardly understand why, myself. But probably it was the confidence which the whole bearing of the young man, and his superb physique, in which he surpasses all I have ever known—probably it was the confidence that these inspired that he would be more than equal to the occasion. Still, now that it is all over, I wonder at myself somewhat.”
“But suppose that brute of a horse, or that greater brute of a man, had killed him? I shudder to think of it. I had no idea that anything could have shaken me so.” She closed her eyes and involuntarily trembled.
“But,” she added in a moment, “this is not all. I received this morning from my mother a letter which moved me greatly and perhaps unfitted me to bear the scene in the palæstra as well as did the other young ladies. Between the two I feel too weak to go home alone: besides, I want your counsel. Can you not go with me?”
Seti went with her.